


Thumb Bites and Pocket Knives

by Darling_Dreamer



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eren Yeager Has Issues, Eren Yeager Has a Manbun, Eren Yeager Has a Secret, F/M, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, Male Friendship, Older Eren Yeager, Past Character Death, Reader-Insert, Romance, Violence, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29488560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Dreamer/pseuds/Darling_Dreamer
Summary: At first, you only—really, really—wished Eren Jaeger didn’t look so much like Isabel. But he had stared at you and you’d been stumbling half-blind around him ever since. And those were definitely bite marks on his thumbs.At first, Eren only—really, really—wished you weren’t friends with Jean Kirschtein. But you had stared at him and he’d been trying to keep your eyes on him ever since. And that was definitely a knife in your pocket.
Relationships: Eren Yeager & Everyone, Eren Yeager/Reader
Comments: 41
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a College AU featuring our favourite angry boi who is a little more mature in this. Mind the tags.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You met Eren, Mikasa and Armin on a hot summer day. Tempers ran even hotter and it wasn't friendly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my first story on here and I'm pretty new to this site, so please feel free to give feedback on any issues pertaining to formatting, grammar and all that jazz!
> 
> Thank you for reading this!

The heat rising up from the asphalt made your feet feel sticky in your combat boots. It didn’t help that you were dressed in all black in the middle of Paradis summer either. Freshman lingered around, having just come from orientation. But as a junior, you really had no reason to be out in the sweltering heat other than the fact that Jean had gotten himself locked out of his car. Sometimes, you wondered how he functioned.

You tried again, folding your arms. “Jean, just call—”

“No,” he insisted. He was trying to wiggle the clothing hanger he’d made you bring down into the gap at the top of the door. He wanted to twist it downwards once inside to disengage the door lock, but he couldn’t yet figure it out. You wouldn’t mind waiting him out usually, but it was too hot for this.

“Let me help you.”

“No.”

“Okay, let me tell you how to—”

“No, I got it. I’ve seen this on TV before.”

He hadn’t taken any advice from you so far. Apparently, he’d only called you down from the cool AC in your on-campus dorm room to watch him struggle in the unforgiving heat. You could only imagine how suspicious you two must have looked.

A trio at the far end of the lot was eyeing you with something akin to wariness. And to be honest, the last thing you’d wanted was to have on-campus police called on you because it looked like you were breaking into someone’s car.

You were wondering how long you should let him try when the trio—a blond boy, a tall brunet and a raven-haired girl—suddenly started in your direction. Cursing under your breath, you gently pushed Jean away, feeling sweat slick your back as your t-shirt clung to your skin.

“You owe me ice cream,” you told him, grabbing your mangled hanger and flipping out your pocket knife.

“What—”

You worked your knife into the gap and forced open a space to fit the hanger. Jean watched you, quietly assessing your stoic expression and then your expert hands. The lock gave just as the group came sauntering over and you quickly sheathed your knife in your pocket again.

“Need help?” a low voice asked.

Jean whipped around, startled. And then, his shoulders bunched up even more. You furrowed your brows at the defensive behaviour. There was a tense moment of silence where you kept your eyes on your friend’s face, watching for any signs that you needed your knife again. He’d never looked so tense and if he thought trouble was coming, you were prepared for it.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to offer,” Jean eventually said with a tight jaw.

“Guess you don’t need it anyway,” the brunet supposed.

He sounded less posh than Jean did and had more of a drawl to his lilt. But every word was clearly enunciated and you couldn’t mishear him if you tried. You couldn’t misread the hostility radiating off of Jean either.

Still, you couldn’t place the accent or figure out how they’d known each other.

“Never needed it,” Jean said curtly, throwing an arm around you and pulling you closer.

Green eyes rounded on you then, gaze piercing.

_What the—_

Your muscles locked, heart skipping a beat and then hammering hard in your chest. You could only stand there, immobile. It was as if you’d never changed at all, like you were still that defenceless child in the dark city, like you were still hanging off her every word.

Numbness deadened your nerves in that brief moment. And then pain burst inside your chest like exploding glass and you were hurt all over again, bleeding all over again, scrubbing all her blood off of you again.

Her eyes were greener, but you’d never seen anything so close, so similar.

You were shaking, you realised absent-mindedly when Jean gave you a concerned, confused look. Clearing your throat, you turned away from the brunet towards the girl who stood as stiffly as you did—and immediately wished you hadn’t.

Inky black hair fell cropped just under the chin and storm cloud eyes studied you silently. She was inched a little in front of the brunet, discreetly but very clearly protectively. That was familiar, too. Your heart squeezed.

The blond boy looked a little more friendly, less irritated and more worried. But you were already seeing ghosts and wanted nothing to do with this group after this interaction.

“Get in,” Jean said, turning you to the car.

You stiffened at having your back turned to them and shrugged off Jean’s hold. “You first,” you told him, knowing how to keep an eye out for trouble.

He huffed but acquiesced, slamming the door shut behind him as he sat in the driver’s seat. His hands clenched around the steering wheel. Before you could walk around to join him on the passenger’s side, the blond spoke up hesitantly.

“We aren’t trying to cause problems, honestly,” he promised. “We just wanted to talk.”

“None of my business,” you intoned, letting your nerves settle. You weren’t about to let yourself freeze up again in front of these strangers.

His eyes were pleading. “We went to school together in Trost,” the boy offered awkwardly. “I—”

“Don’t care,” you interrupted.

“Don’t talk to Armin like that,” the girl said coolly.

The words leapt out before you could stop them. “Or what, Ackerman?”

And you knew you were right when she tilted her chin up, giving you a considering look. The blond—Armin, you noted—casted wide-eyed glances between you and his friend. And the brunet had placed a calming hand on her shoulder, shaking his head at her.

She didn’t seem to acknowledge it, her attention solely on you. “You’re from the Underground,” she deduced.

All their eyes were on you, suddenly. But you didn’t stick around for the full reaction. You knew where your allegiance lay and your best friend was currently in the car on the cusp of a breakdown. You hadn’t expected to be joining him after you got his car unlocked, but you knew he needed you right now.

Despite how hard it was to ignore instincts, you strolled away from them and got into the car besides Jean. He peeled out of the lot a few seconds later, nostrils flared as he muttered under his breath. You were glad for the minimal traffic in the area because Jean was flooring it. The world flew by in a whirl of green and grey as he left the outskirts of Stohess and headed into the city. You offered an ear, but he shook his head.

Right, you needed to remind yourself that, although you and Jean valued each other’s friendship, there were clearly defined lines. Your past and his were usually not topics of discussion. This was more Marco’s area of expertise anyway, so you let it drop and focused on twisting your hanger back into place. By the time Jean met the inner-city bustle half an hour later, he was a lot calmer and you’d shot Marco a text to talk to Jean about the incident later.

Your heart was pounding in your chest. And maybe it was your imagination or the growling engine, but it felt as if the entire car was shaking with you. You told yourself that it was because you’d just amped yourself up to brawl in Jean’s defence, but you knew better. You’d met an Ackerman, hadn’t exchanged any blows, and yet still managed not to come out unscathed. And the brunet had Isabel’s eyes.

At a red light, Jean turned to you and asked, “You said I owed you ice cream?”

Well, you certainly weren’t going to turn that down in this heat.

“Sure,” you said with a shrug.

You rested your temple against the window, feeling your head throb. Your palms were sweating, too. You itched to play with the knife in your pocket, to twist the weight of it between your fingers and calm down but you couldn’t even think properly. You couldn’t because _there was an Ackerman on campus and a boy with Isabel’s eyes._

And if ghosts from your past were finally catching up to you now, then you were _terrified_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren couldn't remember a single time in their friendship when Ymir had given him helpful advice, so it was great that he'd already long made up his mind to talk to you.

You _prowled_ , he noticed.

Your steps were incredibly light, your frame almost hunched over as if you were always ready to pounce on the world. Occasionally, you’d observe your surroundings, a subtle power in your stride—the same understated strength in the way you’d pushed Jean aside and flipped out your knife. It told him you knew a lot about how to use it.

“Jean figured if he couldn’t get your guard dog, he’d go find his own,” Ymir was saying to him, watching him stare at you as you slinked through the courtyard.

He let out a huff as he turned back to her. “That’s funny coming from _Christa’s_ guard dog.”

Ymir’s returning grin was feral. “What can I say? I love that girl.”

“Yes, we heard you the first ten thousand times you said that,” he retorted, but absentmindedly so. He couldn’t imagine where you were heading to at six in the morning.

The parking lot was rather empty at this early hour on the first day of the semester. Unapologetically, Ymir had roped him into coming to school a whole three hours before his first class at nine. Her car battery had died the night before and he was the only one she trusted to use jumper cables.

For his trouble, she’d promised to get him a coffee on her way back from picking up Christa in the inner-city.

“You know her?” he asked, unwrapping his cables. 

“Nah, not like that,” Ymir said. “But she tutored Sasha and Connie last semester, I think, and I know she’s friends with Marco, too. Sticks to herself otherwise.”

He connected the jump leads to both cars and asked Ymir, “She’s shy?”

You hadn’t seemed so. Yet, there was something in your eyes when you looked at him, like he’d frightened you, almost. It was only for a brief moment, but it had turned him inside out. He’d seen that look already from his friends, had lost so many friendships over it, had worked so hard to regain their trust.

Seeing you look at him like that made him...

“Not shy, maybe she just doesn’t like people,” Ymir said, turning a considerate gaze in the direction you’d disappeared. “Some guy from out of town tried to rob the campus café last year and made the mistake of pointing a gun at Marco. It was all over pretty quickly, but she looked like the worst part of it was having people come up to her to talk about it afterwards.”

He pictured you using that knife as he started his engine. He wished he’d seen it.

“You planning to pull a Jean and start crushing on your nemesis’ girlfriend?” Ymir teased, turning a sly grin on him.

“Shut up, Ymir,” he said without any real heat.

All his friends knew by now that there was no romantic interest between him and his adoptive sister, but Mikasa had a tendency to hover that was low-hanging fruit when it came to friendly jabs.

“She your type, Jaeger? Brooding and protective? Isn’t it a little narcissistic to like somebody just like you?”

“Shut up, Ymir.”

“I mean, didn’t you two only meet because Jean was having problems with his car?” She gave the sky an over-exaggerated fearful look. “And now you’re seeing her again while I’m having car issues? The universe is practically telling you two to be together. Maybe I should've called her over.”

“Maybe I should've taken my jumper cables and left your ass stranded here,” he quipped, gesturing to her car. “Start your engine now.”

Ymir did as told, but just as quickly, she was goading him again. “Don’t worry, she and Jean aren’t actually dating, though.”

“I don’t remember asking,” he said, folding his arms as he leaned against his car.

He tilted his chin up as the cool morning breeze tousled loose strands of his hair. For a long moment, it was just their two engines rumbling in the quiet. He closed his eyes, mind lulling. He’d eventually need to talk to Jean, as unnerving as that conversation would be.

Would you stand in his way?

That look had been _searing_. Without exchanging words, it felt as if you’d seen right through him. As he’d stood there under your scrutiny, Stohess University campus had melted away to Trost classrooms and he was young and angry and throwing Jean down to the floor in blind fury. And Trost schools had burned away to Shiganshina streets and he was older and angrier and running through his hometown covered in blood.

Had Kirschtein already told you about what happened?

Whatever that fear in your eyes meant, you were from the Underground City, familiar with the Ackermans and capable of taking down a robber. If Jean had told you, then you most likely weren’t going to simply let him talk to Jean. And that was without taking into consideration the way Jean had put his arm around you, as if he knew you were down to fight at a moment’s notice.

Mikasa and Armin had been perfecting that little calming touch for him throughout a majority of their friendship. And now that they were older and he’d tumbled from Shiganshina to Trost to Shiganshina again to Marley, it was Mikasa who tended to be protective over him and Armin. He didn’t want a confrontation between you and Mikasa.

But he also...really wanted to make amends. Jean had no problem simply ignoring him and any prompts to talk in their Trost group chat. His number was most likely blocked, too, considering private messages never seemed to be delivered.

“I hate you sometimes,” Ymir said quietly, abruptly. His eyes flickered to hers as she rolled them. “You were obnoxious enough back then, but now, you’re back and all...”

A smile curved his lips. “Handsome?”

Ymir turned away with a sneer, but he could see the relief in her face. “ _Please_. Like you weren’t running through half the girls in Trost before you left.”

It was his turn to look away, closing his eyes. He’d been brash and moody in Trost, a foreign blue boy with a red-hot temper that drew the eyes and affections of a lot of their schoolmates. And he’d been _hurting so badly_ and needing love so badly that he didn’t care if they sought to fix him or use him.

“There she goes,” she said, jerking her chin towards the opposite end of the lot.

You were still only walking, but your posture had changed. Your shoulders had relaxed and you glanced at the sky more, as if you were marvelling the universe. Whatever made you stalk through the courtyard, you’d worked it out of your system. You looked careful, but free.

His breath caught a little in his throat.

Ymir’s voice was a little sombre as she said, “There’s a rumour, you know, that she’s from the Underground. Somebody said they heard her and Marco talking about it after she stopped the robbery.”

He very carefully kept his face blank. “So?”

His friend shrugged. “So, ever since you came back, you’ve been acting like you expect to get jumped by Jean. If you really think getting your ass beat might help him forgive you, just offer yourself up to her and get it over with. Let me know when so I can record it, though.”

But he already knew that he was going to talk to you, too. “I’m not going to fight her.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be a fight,” she said, amused.

“I’m going to...talk to her,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her comment. 

It sounded silly to say, oddly mature yet somehow childish. You didn’t seem the type for conversation, but he would try. Of course, he knew that he couldn’t make everyone like him—a good number of people didn’t, in fact. But he didn’t like the way you looked at him. 

Ymir’s mischievous expression sobered at the seriousness in his tone, but she still shrugged and said, “Honestly, if I were you, I’d just give up on my dreams and die.”

“Shut _up_ , Ymir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You probably shouldn't have let Marco believe that Eren had any sort of effect on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: TW for mentions of past self-harm:
> 
> You briefly muse about Eren’s scars.

As much as you’d like to think that your sewer rat ways were done, the Underground City was always going to be a part of you. 

It had trained you to be observant. Likewise, every semester, you normally came to your classes an hour earlier to beat the rush and secure a seat at the back next to the window. It was a quick escape if necessary and your seat allowed you to have a proper scope of your surroundings. 

So, when the brunet that’d so easily dismantled Jean’s cocky persona stepped through the door only minutes after you, your eyes were on him long before he’d noticed you.

He stilled upon eye contact. 

You forced yourself to turn away to the window. Although you liked to be aware of your space, you didn’t want to look at him. No matter how much you wished that pain was only something that loomed and lingered in the Underground, it clung to your chest now. For a moment, there was gunpowder in your throat as you swallowed and the scent of iron in your nose when you breathed a deep sigh.

Of course, you’d known that you would see him again if he was going to be at Stohess University. Still, it was one thing to accept that you would glimpse him across the parking lot—and that he would be looking at you, too. But it was another thing entirely to have a class with him. Blinking away the image of red hair dancing at the corner of your memory, you ignored your instincts and put in your headphones.

He started walking again. In a few strides, he was already in front of you, but you didn’t acknowledge him. You refused. Your heart was loud in your ears, so you turned your music even louder.Fortunately, he didn’t attempt conversation. _Unfortunately_ , he took the seat in front of you. 

The class was still empty. A quick glance around the room confirmed so. Your skin crawled at being boxed in like this. When you turned your attention forward again, he was staring at you. Your heart skipped a beat. And you held his eyes for a moment to compensate for being caught. 

You were glaring just a little when you asked, “Need something?”

“Armin’s a good guy,” he said suddenly. You raised an eyebrow at him, so he continued, “I get it if you don’t like me because of whatever Kirschtein said to you—or if you don’t like Mikasa. But Armin’s _good_.” 

You could hear the respect in his voice, the fondness for who you assumed was the blond boy. 

“Armin’s the best of us and he was only trying to help me talk to him.”

It wasn’t Armin’s fault that he was on the other side of the fence, you knew. Truthfully, it didn’t even seem as if Jean disliked him either. Your friend’s eyes and body language had mostly been pointed at the brunet. 

“Am I supposed to apologise?” you asked with a nonchalance you didn’t feel, turning your attention back to the window. 

You didn’t need to see whatever expression he was making. You didn’t _want_ to. While your father’s efforts to keep you safe in the Underground proved ultimately useless, there was one thing he’d instilled in you better than any morals he’d intentionally tried to teach: guilt.

Wordlessly, the boy faced forwards again. You took a moment to close your eyes and _hurt_ in peace before schooling your expression. It was going to be a rather long day, you supposed, taking out your stationery.

Professor Shadis arrived not too long after. And the boy’s shoulders stiffened ever so minutely. Shadis stopped at the doorway, simply staring at him, before continuing his march to the podium in the corner of your side of the room. 

“I thought I must be going blind when I saw your name on the list,” he snarled, setting out his things and starting the projector.

“No, I’m here, sir,” the boy replied in that drawl. 

Well, now that you considered the accent, you remembered that the further outwards you went in Paradis, the thicker the intonation. He must’ve been from around Wall Maria, though you didn’t know enough to say specifically where. He sounded a lot like Shadis, actually.

“What are you here for?” the man demanded. “To cause trouble?”

“To make my mom proud, sir,” he said resolutely. 

Shadis let it drop.

As more students filed in, you immediately noted familiar faces. Sasha and Connie, who you tutored previously, strolled in bickering as usual. It lasted for a solid thirty seconds before she waved excitedly in your direction. You almost believed the geniality was for you, but the boy in front of you nodded in greeting.

His low voice resonated despite all the chatter as he simply said, “Yo.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to school with us again. I _missed_ you,” she whined as she bounded over to him.

“Same,” Connie agreed, awkwardly rubbing his neck as he followed at a more sedate pace. “I feel like we didn’t even get to hang with you enough during summer, so don’t just randomly disappear on us again, okay?”

You tried not to think too much about why he’d apparently vanished, about why Shadis thought he’d cause problems.

“All right,” he said, a muted chuckle in his voice.

Sasha turned to you, beaming. “Hey, girl! I didn’t know you were taking this class!” She nudged the boy in front of you to get his attention as she gestured at you. “If you ever need help studying, she’s got your back.” 

You pulled out your earphones, but you kept your eyes on Sasha and Connie. “We’ve met.”

He turned in his chair to face you. “She’s Jean’s friend,” he said as if it summed up your entire existence.

It wasn’t the worse thing you’d ever been called, but Connie winced at the comment, saying, “Jean’s not so bad these days, you know. And she’s cool.”

Sasha nodded fervently at the boy and then sort of did a double-take at you. She pretended to whisper, “Kind of scary, but cool.” You rolled your eyes at her and she smiled. “As long as you don’t, like, break Jean’s arm again, she won’t—”

Connie dug an elbow into her side.

“‘Again’?” you asked.

He dragged his friend away, waving goodbye to you and the brunet. They went to sit in the middle of the class next to two girls you only vaguely recognised, a pretty blonde and her lanky girlfriend. They both waved at the brunet, too. 

He turned back to you. “About Jean’s arm—”

Suddenly, the taller girl came over with a cup of something that smelled surprisingly sweet. “Got your coffee—hazelnut since you’re being a princess,” she said and her eyes took on a cunning look when she glanced back at you.

You raised an eyebrow. Was she not even going to pretend that they hadn’t been staring at you this morning when you went for your walk? It had made you uneasy until you remembered that you didn’t actually care what their opinion was and could defend yourself if it came to physical violence. You’d been able to relax after that, but not completely.

“Did you really make me come to school three hours early to fix your car when we have the same class at nine—even after knowing I live forty-five minutes away?” he asked incredulously, but you noticed that he hadn’t raised his voice at all.

“I wasn’t going to make Christa take the bus. And I needed to make sure she had a long, nice breakfast before our first class of the semester,” she said as if he should’ve known better.

“I woke up at 4:30 to have enough time for a shower before coming here,” he deadpanned as the blonde approached.

“I’ll buy you lunch. Now, drink your coffee in peace and stop sulking. It’s not as cute as it was before,” she said, waving him off.

“Don’t be mean,” the blonde said with an eye roll. She gave the brunet a soft, considerate smile as her girlfriend pulled her back to their seats. “Glad to have you back!”

“Yeah,” he said under his breath, voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. It was so heavy, you thought, as if he didn’t quite believe her words, but was glad to hear them. “I bet it is.”

You squeezed your fists. 

It was easier to despise him when he was effortlessly upsetting Jean and silently staring at you. But now he’d concerned himself with your opinion of Armin, had shut up Shadis, had come to school hours earlier than necessary to help his friend with her car and was so obviously loved by his friends—friends who also associated with Jean to various degrees of familiarity. And yet, he was...

Regardless, it seemed as if Jean was very abruptly outnumbered by the people who did like this boy. You needed to remember that he stared at you with those eyes and had an Ackerman in his group. You needed to keep your head clear.

When class started, Shadis warned everyone, “If I hear you eating or talking in my class, I will personally make life very miserable for you, understand?” 

He didn’t wait for a response before diving into the course curriculum. Naturally, it wasn’t long before he made good on his word. Within the first twenty minutes, Sasha was leaving in tears, chip crumbs around her mouth. Connie slinked out after her, withering under Shadis’ stare.

The boy in front of you only sighed and shook his head. Isabel would’ve snickered at least, you thought to yourself. It wouldn’t be entirely out of malice. She’d have simply found the entire ridiculousness of it amusing. They really weren’t much alike at all.

Instinctively, you leaned away as his hands came up behind him to readjust his hair. 

You froze. 

There were bite marks on his thumbs. 

The little blemishes marred his tan skin. Some—dark and angry and jagged imprints—could’ve only healed from severely deep, repetitive gnawing. Cleaner, simpler scars slanted over the older wounds, healed silver over the darker ones like armour, like he’d learnt to fight instinct and be gentler to himself. None had the red, raw tinge to them that suggested recentness. So, you supposed, he’d learnt to be more forgiving to himself, too.

He stood suddenly. You jerked back to reality, eyes darting around the emptying classroom. Shadis was already packing up his notes and glancing at the boy. The clock at the front of the classroom read _12:01_. You’d lost track of two and a half hours staring.

That was dangerous territory. That was careless. That was _stupid_. That was—

Pursing your lips, you began to put away your things, too.

“For the record,” he started. “I wasn’t telling you to apologise. I just don’t want you to think that Armin had bad intentions. He’s not like that.” 

You blinked up at him, holding yourself still. From this angle, loose hair framing his sharp gaze as he looked down at you, he was suddenly bruising with his attention. There was something in his gaze searching yours, expression certain, but not unkind as he examined you. It was if he had all the time in the world to do so, as if he’d stay in this classroom with you all day if he thought it would erode the stone wall you’d erected between you.

It was as if he wanted to.

You felt raw. “Don’t talk to me,” you said, but it came out as a whisper, choked breath stuck in your throat. 

He furrowed his eyebrows at you, having the audacity to look concerned. “Hey—”

You threw everything in your bag and took off out the door.

Marco was waiting for you outside with a gentle smile that dropped when he saw your face. 

“Sorry about the wait,” you said, gripping your bag. You started through the corridor. “Let’s go.”

“Wait—oh, hey, Eren!”

When you glanced back, it was the brunet. He gave Marco a half-hearted smile, eyes flitting to you. _Of course_ , Marco liked him, too. And now you had a name. 

It was a name you didn’t want to know or need to know and you were shaking. Marco’s eyes dropped back to you. Carefully, he put an arm around you, bid goodbye to _Eren_ and moved you guys outside to the courtyard.

He sat you down on the first empty bench and took your hands as he sat beside you. The courtyard was quickly filling up with students carrying their lunches. You’d only managed a seat because it was still rather early. It smelled of fast food and sweat and grass.

Marco gave you a gentle squeeze to refocus your attention. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

How could you even begin to explain? You couldn’t give Marco half a story. You usually found yourself saying more than you really wanted because he always tried to get to the bottom of his friends’ problems. 

He always tried to help dig them out. But he didn’t have nearly a big enough shovel for you to burden him with the depths of depravity you’d crawled out of to find yourself here in Stohess. 

“I...”

And there was _Eren_ strolling ahead of you with the one who promised him lunch and her girlfriend. He had a small smile as the blonde babbled excitedly. His eyes caught yours for the briefest of moments. And his expression twisted with the guilt you’d recognised all too well. He looked _sorry_. 

An ache burrowed into your chest. 

“Is something going on between you and Eren?” Marco asked, eyes glancing to the brunet.

Your heart got stuck in your throat. 

Marco’s smile was encouraging. “It’s all right, you know. Eren has that affect on people.”

“He doesn’t have an effect on me.”

Marco stared at you for a long time. From the agitation in your posture, to your creased brows, to your deadpan delivery—he took in everything about the moment and then some. Finally, he nodded sagely as if you’d told him this a hundred times and he had _just_ the remedy for your affliction.

“What do you like about him?”

You paused. That was an odd question. He clearly understood that you’d downright fled the classroom to escape that boy. And now he was randomly asking you what you liked about him?

Realisation sunk in quickly. “Oh.” Your breath came out in a rush. “Marco, I think you’re misunderstanding something.”

He only gave you that patient look. You furrowed your brows. Even if he was so evidently mistaken as he was, he never asked Jean these questions when he confessed romantic interest. Why was he interrogating you? 

“Well,” you decided to say eventually, considering that your friend didn’t seem to want to let you go to eat lunch. The quicker you got this impromptu therapy session over with, the quicker you would be able to get on with your day. “He cares really deeply about his friends.”

“I agree,” he said, smiling broadly at you now. “He’s always been like that. What else?”

You swallowed down your panic. “He seems strong.”

“‘Strong’?” Marco parroted questioningly.

You thought about his scars. “Like he overcame a lot,” you elaborated. 

Marco’s eyes softened. “Yeah, he has.” He let go of your hands to hug you. Immediately, you felt yourself relax into the lavender scent of his softener. “It feels nice to care about other people, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. 

It really didn’t. First came the caring and the dedicating place in your heart, then came the abandoning and the gaping hole in your chest when people left. Jean and Marco weren’t exceptions. It would hurt once they disappeared, too, but at least this time, you were prepared for the pain.

As Marco pulled away, he confided in you, “Jean would never tell you this, but I don’t want you to feel guilty for the way you feel, especially since this is the first time I’ve seen you interested in anyone and especially because it’s Eren.”

Oh, you thought, so that was what the questioning was about. You felt a little ashamed for lying by omission, but you didn’t want to talk about Isabel. It made you feel stupid. It made you feel childish that you couldn’t accept that billions of people existed and one sort of looked like her.

“Eren and Jean had a complicated relationship,” he explained. “Sometimes, it was hate. A lot of times, it wasn’t. Eren had a really bad temper, but more often than not, it was Jean who did the provoking. He hated whenever Eren had quiet days and if he saw Eren sulking, he was guaranteed to try to do anything to annoy him. 

“I think he preferred Eren to be angry than sad, even if it meant that he got the short end of the stick a lot during their confrontations. The both of them went too far sometimes and they’d act like they could never stand each other. But if people made fun of Eren, Jean was there defending him and vice versa.”

“Then, why is Jean so mad at him?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Because...Eren did something,” Marco said vaguely. “I can’t tell you what, but he did something and then disappeared. And I think more than anything, Jean was hurt at the fact that Eren didn’t talk to him when it all happened. We all were a little hurt, but Jean took it really badly.”

You thought back to their interaction at the car. He’d definitely been angry, but now with some context, you couldn’t deny that there was the faintest hint of indignation. Jean usually had no problem standing up to anyone, but he’d retreated, you realised. Eren appeared and Jean wanted to be as far away as possible because he was _hurt_.

“Don’t worry about Jean, okay? I’ll talk to him for you.”

Marco could tell you the world was ending and your shoulders would still be drooping as you sagged in relief.

In retrospect, you should have paid more attention to what he was saying. But the world felt a little easier to ignore once he’d put some lunch in your system and bid you goodbye. You were tired—first days were always exhausting—and you hadn’t registered him saying he would talk to Jean.

Back in your dorm room, you swore you only blinked, but when your eyes opened, you were in bed and your phone vibrated noisily in your hand.

You jerked up, fingers reaching for your pocket. But it was quiet. Darkness greeted you. Outside the window, the sky was deep blue and empty of clouds. Your phone buzzed again and after a long sigh, you checked the ID: Jean.

Answering, you mumbled, “Hel—”

_ “Is it true?”  _ he sounded strange, distant, _soft_. 

“What?” you croaked, pulling the phone away to glance at the time. Your screen read _19:23_. You put the phone back to your ear. 

_ “—Eren?”  _

That was an upward inflection. He’d asked you a question. You hadn’t heard the first part and your brain was lagging, wondering what an Eren was. Apparently, you took too long to answer because he began shouting. 

_ “—Eren! You’re—you’re supposed to be my friend!” _

Everything clicked. You put the phone down on the bed and sighed into your palms. You supposed you should have known that lying would come back to bite you, but you hadn’t anticipated it so quickly. 

He was still yelling when you picked back up the phone. _“—giving him a pass! It’s always, ‘Oh, woe is Eren. His mom died, so let’s just let him go on a rampage!’”_

You rubbed your temples as he got louder. 

_ “Your parent dying doesn’t give you an excuse to act like that!” _

You tried, “Can we talk about this in person?”

_ “There’s nothing to talk about!” _ he snapped. _“I thought you had my back, but you’re just like—like Mikasa!”_

Was that the Ackerman? 

Your blood ran cold. “Don’t compare me to her,” you warned.

_ “Why?”  _ he demanded condescendingly. _“Because you know I’m right?”_

You gritted your teeth. It was the first day of the semester and everything was already falling apart.

“Jean, _don’t_.”

_ “No,”  _ he cut in and his voice had gone cold. 

Your heart stopped.

_ “You and I—this friendship is  _ done _.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean was hurting, Eren was hurting and you were hurting—and Monday wasn't even over yet.

Jean knew he was being silent.

“For once,” Reiner had said sardonically.

No one laughed.

The sun was setting in the distance. Trost in the afternoon seemed to blaze just a little brighter, but the glare of the sun was icy in Annie’s unblinking stare through the bedroom window. As she leaned against the sill, Reiner stood beside her with his arms folded. His tall figure casted a long shadow over Bertholdt who sat on the floor next to Marco’s bed, knees pulled up and tucked under his chin.

Sasha, Connie, Ymir and Christa sat around him, expressions of worry mirroring Marco’s. He sat on his bed with Jean, staring at his unchanging phone. Jean’s eyes were squeezed shut as he rested his head back against the wall behind him. Downstairs, Marco’s parents were watching the news on the TV. The quiet, low tones of chatter were the only sounds for a long moment.

The dimming sunlight cooled their already stony expressions.

They’d waited that way for hours everyday, like sentinels following strict orders. But there was no one to guard and they were the last remaining. After the initial curiosity had faded, everyone else had returned to their regularly scheduled programmes. They’d made glib assurances. They’d dismissed Eren just as quickly as they’d become fascinated with him.

_“Stop overreacting.”_

_“Eren’s just being Eren.”_

_“He’s probably sick or something.”_

Jean didn’t think he was overreacting. They knew him and this wasn’t normal.

Eren and Marco always had pleasant conversations. Connie and Sasha had immediately taken to involving him in their mischievous schemes. Ymir had even warmed up to him long before Christa had. Reiner had adopted him as a younger brother, using loud sincerity to combat Eren’s loud defensiveness. He and Annie had quiet, thoughtful conversations about their fathers. Even Bertholdt had managed to be the one to gently coax him into opening up about his mother’s death.

Jean had none of that. They’d started on bad first impressions. Eren had been sulking and it was getting in the way of Jean trying to talk to Mikasa. The half-hearted attempt at conversation with the green-eyed boy had quickly devolved into fists. And Eren could brood like no one else. But when he was angry, he was _frightening_.

And anyone who’d ever met Eren knew just how he could burn with only one look, one touch, one word. Jean was always jealous of that fire, but anyone whose eyes flared like infernos had to be melting on the inside, had to be tormented. Eren’s short fuse could sear, but his grief was torturous, too, and could infect anyone who cared.

And still, Jean couldn’t leave him alone. There were rare moments when Eren looked his age, all shy and embarrassed and tripping over himself—those had been the most precious to Jean. Those little moments had meant so much more than passing happiness. They were _hope_. And now, Eren had just _disappeared_. Armin and Mikasa had gone, too. 

So, of course they came together like this. There was nothing they could do but wait. Days passed and then weeks and then the only people asking them about Eren were their parents wondering where the bright-eyed boy had gone and _when are you going to bring over that nice young man again, Jean-bo?_

It _stung_. Maybe they weren’t close, but he cared about that damn suicidal bastard. That maniac had to have known it, had to have known that he could talk to him. Marco had been the only one of his friends that he ever invited over to his house, but then there was Eren with them and Eren flushing under his mother’s fussing and Eren looking so _wounded_ by the mothering, but pleased.

And they were _friends_.

The murmuring downstairs stopped. Everyone’s eyes snapped to the closed door of Marco’s bedroom. There were a few seconds of hushed conversations. Then, the wooden stairs creaked, too lightly to be Eren’s, too lingering to be Mikasa’s. The doorknob turned.

Armin’s bleak eyes met the group, took them all in with sombreness that he’d never had since the Shiganshina trio first transferred to Trost. Annie had crossed the short distance, pulling him into her arms. Tearful, he had shaken down to the very tips of his toes when he delivered the news that Eren couldn’t face them to say.

“Grisha is—Grisha is sending him to Marley because he...”

Armin had returned to Shiganshina after that. And as if Eren were the glue that had held them all together, they'd disbanded. Ymir and Christa had been the first to distance themselves, and then Sasha and Connie. Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt had headed back to Marley after highschool. Marco had been the only one to stay and it was all _wrong_. So, Jean had told Eren Jaeger to _go screw himself_ when he finally reached back out to them a year later. Then, he’d promptly blocked him. And then, he’d met you.

You were cool and calm and collected and had turned out to be worse. He couldn’t stand it. You weren’t going around picking fights with random street gangs just to feel something, but you were worse. You were worse than grieving boys with no outlets.

He thought he’d hated Eren for his temper.

You didn’t get angry the way Eren did, didn’t confront him about anything. You didn’t lash out the way Eren did and always pretended that everything was fine. You didn’t get into scraps that would get your lips busted like Eren; you’d come from the place where they busted _skulls_ wide open.

He was sure he’d hated Eren for his violent tendencies. But you’d done worse. Without words, he’d known. He’d understood. He’d accepted it. Eren Jaeger could disappear without warning, but if your past came for you, you could die. And he’d swallowed it down as painful as it all was. Yet, once he did, the anger at Eren was gone. All he was left with was the hurt.

It had seemed like perfect karma to Jean that he’d met you and then accepted you—and only then had Eren Jaeger waltzed back into his life. It seemed like perfect karma that Marco had told him that you had feelings for Eren. Without even hearing what he had to say, you’d decided that Eren was something special. Without waiting for him to get over it, just like Marco, Sasha, Connie, Ymir, Christa, Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt, you’d decided that Eren was precious.

Of course you did.

So, even as he could feel the lecture coming from Marco, he turned off his phone and fled campus.

In the courtyard, Eren was seriously questioning his friends’ sanity.

When it came to you, if Ymir was purposefully unhelpful, then Sasha and Connie’s advice was downright _stupid_. They’d been offering suggestions for the past five minutes as the group sat around one of the bench tables. Not a single one had been plausible.

“Challenge her to a death battle!”

“Challenge her to fight to the death!”

“That’s what I just said!”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

Eren rested his cheek against his palm as the two went back and forth. Beside him, Armin was worrying his lip with downcast eyes in the way that he often did before saying something brilliant. Mikasa hadn’t said a word since Ymir had needled the story out of Eren. And as Ymir smirked obnoxiously at him, Christa gave him a thoughtful look.

“It’s not your fault,” she said sweetly, sympathetically.

“I know,” he muttered. He closed his eyes. They didn’t understand. He knew what he saw on your face. “Maybe Jean told her,” he murmured.

Immediately, it was quiet. Ymir’s smirk fell and she sat up, eyes boring into him. Sasha and Connie turned their eyes away, sucking in a breath. The glare on Mikasa’s face was deadly. There was a very clear intent to track Jean down and maim him even as Armin told him not to jump to conclusions.

“Why do you think so?” Christa asked quietly.

His breath rushed out of him. “Because she’s scared of—of _me_.”

“Yeah, no,” Ymir snorted. “It’s probably because you have zero social skills,” she said. “Even I never had someone beg me not to talk to them.”

He opened his mouth to argue the point, but Armin finally spoke up, “But why does it bother you?” They all faced him and he blushed, ducking his head. He drummed his fingers along the table, adding, “This kind of thing never bothered you before. You don’t normally care. I mean, it’s not like she was the one who approached us—”

“Eren’d probably piss himself if she talked to him.”

Christa slapped her on the thigh, earning a wolfish grin. “You were saying, Armin?”

“Um,” he started and continued once Eren gave him a nod, “well, when we try to talk to her, she knows it’s really about Jean. And she probably won’t trust us anyway, so why are you trying to talk to her?”

Everyone blinked.

Eren sat up. “What?”

Armin gave him a patient look. “If you’re worried about talking to Jean with her around, they’re not always together.”

Everyone turned to Eren.

Connie snapped his fingers, grinning. “Oh!”

Sasha gaped. “That’s what this is about?”

Eren rolled his eyes at them. “I had one conversation with her.”

“I only needed one conversation to know that Christa was going to be my wife,” Ymir added to eye rolls, groans and another thigh slap.

“We had two interactions,” Eren reminded them, ”both of which ended with her getting as far away from me as possible.”

“Sasha and Connie have her number,” Ymir said helpfully. “And she lives at the dorm, so just call her down here and we can sort this out.”

Eren shook his head at them. “Absolutely not.” He stood abruptly. “I’m going to get a drink. You guys want anything?”

As he left, you made your way outside.

A cool breeze blew and you were thankful for your hoodie. Several groups of students dotted the space and the quietude of the night atmosphere that you’d become used to over the summer vacation dissolved into chatter among friends. You quickened your pace as you crossed through the courtyard, hating this openness at night. A hesitant voice called your name.

Turning, you met a now familiar blond. Blue eyes almost twinkled in the dark. When you only stared, he quickly shut his textbook and hurried over to you. At the bench table he abandoned, you saw the two girls from class earlier, Christa and Ymir, you abruptly remembered. The Ackerman wasn’t with them.

She was right behind Armin.

He approached cautiously. “Hi.”

You watched him carefully. What did he want now? You were so exhausted, so completely fed up with anyone from this trio and _your_ trio and _yourself_. The last thing you wanted was a conversation with Armin, not when you couldn’t even manage nonchalance as a shield.

Your phone buzzed continuously in your pocket. Marco was still trying to call, probably still trying to tell you that Jean hadn’t meant whatever he said, that you should listen to him because he knew Jean the longest, that you should talk about your feelings.

You didn’t want to talk about your _feelings_. You wanted to go to the library and start getting ahead on some of the reading material for Shadis’ class. You wanted to disappear between words that wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —hurt you. You wanted to stay there until you didn’t know if your eyes throbbed from reading or the past hour you’d spent being _soft,_ crying. You wanted to be emptied out and hallow.

Armin’s hand flew at you.

You parried it only on instinct, one hand tossing Armin’s aside, blade in the other before you realised what you were doing.

“Holy sh—”

“Uh, Eren?”

“Oi, oi, oi, Eren!”

The Ackerman stepped forward to match you. She brought her hands up to shield her body as she stood in front of Armin. A cold thrill went through you when you met those grey eyes and then—and _then_ , you were facing off as the blond nervously let his hand drop. The action gave you a pause.

What was he even planning to—

Green eyes came burning out of the dark. He appeared suddenly like some ghoul, tall and imposing, and you had no doubt that he saw what you’d done. Your spine stiffened. Unafraid, he stalked in front of Armin and manoeuvred a stubborn Mikasa behind him, too.

The brunet was only looking at you, eyebrows drawn downwards above glowing eyes. You hadn’t thought him to be soft. And yet, as he stood now, he didn’t even seem particularly human, as if his protectiveness had awoken another creature within him. The hairs along your arms rose.

His voice came out deathly calm. “What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself,” Armin squeaked. He regarded you with those big baby blues peaking out above Eren’s shoulder. Your heart clenched even as you bristled at the Ackerman’s narrowed eyes.

“What’s in your hand?” you hissed.

It was Mikasa who spoke up when confused eyes met your glare. “He was going to shake your hand.”

A laugh almost tore out of you. Of course. _Of course_ , he would only want to shake your hand. And _of course_ , you’d reacted like you had. _Of course_ , you were still stuck in your ways. _Of_ _course_ , you’d lie to Marco if it meant avoiding an uncomfortable conversation. _Of course,_ Jean would end the friendship.

Of course, you’d be standing here with a knife in your hand, tears welling in your eyes like the sewer rat you were.

You gritted your teeth. “Sorry,” you bit out, tucking away your weapon. You back-stepped, putting distance between you. “Where I’m from, somebody sticks their hand out like that so fast, they’re tryna stab you.”

To varying degrees, the tension left their stances. Eren stopped leaning forward as if ready to lunge. The Ackerman— _Mikasa_ , you noted—pressed her lips thin but seemed begrudgingly understanding. Carefully, Armin raised his hands, showing you he meant no harm. But you were already feeling your throat get hot.

“You don’t need to introduce yourself to me,” you added.

“Because you don’t care?” he supposed, sounding wounded.

You sighed. “Because I can figure out your names by all the talking around me.”

“Oh,” Armin said.

He tightly wrapped his arms around one of Eren’s. The brunet’s shoulders relaxed a little more and he blinked away his glower. Mikasa deflated once he did. The others who’d been slowly inching towards you stopped as well.

That was something, you said to yourself. That aura was nothing like Isabel’s. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t be intimidating, but Eren had seemed possessed by something completely untameable in that moment. That was it, then, you realised. That was part of what had Jean’s hackles rising.

Eren was terrifying. You had no doubt he’d have sprung at you if you’d actively gone after Armin, regardless of whether you had a knife. Your pulse quickened at the thought, but your hairs weren’t standing anymore. You thought of Armin’s gentle demeanour and felt a little relieved that he had someone ready to defend him against people like you.

This was still a particularly new low for you, though. It wasn’t as if you were optimistic about adjusting to life aboveground, but knowing that you’d so easily been set off by a completely normal hand gesture—even if a little jerky—made you wince. It always felt as if you were catching up to everyone around you. You were worn out.

Squaring your shoulders, you looked the blond in the eye. “Sorry ‘bout the other day, too.” The Underground was bleeding into your voice from your wounded pride, but you couldn’t help it. You only hoped you weren’t speaking too fast. “Don’t got a lotta friends and the ones I do—I got their back in fronta people even if I smack them in private.”

Armin flushed. “I understand. You didn’t have to apologise.”

“You deserved it—the apology, not the...” You clenched your fists anxiously, but he was still smiling encouragingly at you like you weren’t making a fool of yourself.

This time, he slowly extended a hand to you. You blinked at it. “I’m Armin Arlert, from Shiganshina, twenty, s–studying civil engineering, sophomore. I just transferred from Shiganshina this semester.”

Reluctantly, you shook his hand. You offered only your first name and that you were a junior in your programme. Armin took to introducing his friends, firstly Mikasa _Ackerman_ who was a sophomore in the International Business and Trade Programme.

“And that’s Eren,” Armin started.

 _Magnolia?_ You hoped, but it was too good to be true.

“Eren Jaeger,” he cut in, nodding at you. He didn’t try to shake your hand and you were glad for it. He looked like he was still running a little hot. “Sophomore. Behavioural Sciences.”

You wondered if his choice of programme had anything to do with that little display just now.

“From Shiganshina, too?” you asked and saw Mikasa raise an eyebrow at the fact that you hadn’t asked _her_ for clarification. But as far as you were concerned, all Ackermans had crawled out of whatever hell they roamed.

“Yeah,” Eren said on a sigh that took the rest of that fight out of him. He wasn’t meeting your eyes now. “We’re all originally from Shiganshina, but Mikasa and I are transferring overseas from Marley.”

You didn’t let your curiosity show. It wasn’t your business. But at least you could place the accent. You turned to Armin. “I’ll see you around.”

Your skin crawled as hazel eyes pierced you from across the courtyard. Someone was watching you from the centre of a group of five dressed similarly in clothes that cost your entire tuition. They sat on your three o’clock far away enough to make their attention register as intentional. But the one in the middle’s gaze was the most acidic.

His eyes flickered between you and Eren before narrowing on you again. He looked flushed suddenly, anger blooming on his cheeks as he glared. You tensed. Every few months, someone looked at you like that. Usually, they followed it up by warning Jean and Marco about you, as if they didn’t understand why someone with Jean’s money or Marco’s clean reputation would associate with you.

This one seemed like the mere sight of you disgusted him to his core.

Armin pulled your attention back to him when he smiled and said, “Yes, of course. I hope we can talk again soon.”

Awkwardly, you added, “Welcome to Stohess University.” Your rigid shoulders never eased as you took a few steps back. You nodded at the others before speed walking in the opposite direction.

Eren watched you go, hands clenched despite the fact that Armin was speaking to him in soothing, low tones. He hated it. These days, it’d been easier to confront that anger, but it never made him feel better when his friends hovered and coddled him like this.

As he sat back down by the bench, he rolled his shoulders back and started eating his food. Ymir had already taken half of his fries, but she was eyeing him now like she sort of expected him to go chasing after you baring his teeth. As everyone settled back in their seats, all around the table were similar expressions—though Mikasa and Armin looked more worried for him than about what he would do. It made his face feel hot.

Of course, they didn’t trust him completely yet.

Eren said quietly in the silence, “See?”

You hadn’t flinched or stepped back—you’d slapped Armin’s hand away and unsheathed your knife so quickly that it seemed too familiar. You didn’t run away from Armin when you thought he was threatening you, but you ran away from _him_ after a _conversation_.

“No, I don’t ‘see’. I don’t get what you’re seeing,” Ymir said, being the first to loosen up as she propped her chin on Christa’s shoulder. She leaned forward to steal some more of his fries. “Armin triggered fight-or-flight, you stopped it, you talked it out. Everybody’s fine.”

“Yeah, but...”

“But?” Mikasa prompted. “She was the one with the knife, Eren.”

“I just feel like I need to apologise.”

“You shouldn’t,” Mikasa asserted. “It’s nobody’s fault if she panicked.”

They couldn’t understand, he realised.

He saw it for sure the first time you’d met. He’d scared you. He’d upset you again after Shadis’ class, too, when you left in that hurry. And you thought your life was being threatened just now and he’d come looming. It wasn’t that he regretted defending Armin.

Anyone would’ve been protective over their friend if they saw someone pointing at them with a knife. He wasn’t sorry that he reacted that way. He was...preoccupied with the fact that you were so shaped by the Underground that you’d immediately gone for your knife. He was preoccupied with the fact that you were on the verge of tears.

And he wished he’d stop being on the other end of you feeling so cornered all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what exactly was this Marleyan boy’s problem? 
> 
> And was it really only Tuesday?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Not really sure how to do TWs, but this chapter contains a scene where reader is physically assaulted.

When that man had set his eyes on you last night, you didn’t care _too_ much, initially.

For one reason or the other, people took note of you. At times, it was innocent; some students knew that you tutored. For the arrogant ones, it was because they could take one look at you and know you couldn’t have possibly afforded the tuition on your own. At least, you couldn’t _legally_.

For others, it was because a robber had pointed a gun at Marco in the school café and you’d kicked out his teeth. It was because there’d been very accurate rumours going around since then that you were from the Underground City. Every couple of months, the rumours began recirculating and you’d have to deal with a few weeks of sideways looks and whispers from the more condescending students. It was never physical anyway, even if some of them were loudmouths.

So, you weren’t expecting to be shoved against the wall in the hallway.

After your Tuesday morning class, you’d been walking through the corridors to head to lunch with Marco. You hadn’t particularly paid attention to those hazel eyes with all the other knitted waistcoat wearing cowards swimming around their owner. As the group approached you, the posse thinned out on your side. You’d noticed that.

But truthfully, you were still tense from the night before. To compensate for your paranoia with Armin, you let people get too close. You forced yourself to stay in the crowd rather than attempting to navigate around it with Marco.

When the five edged closer to you, you let them. When the one with the blond undercut smashed his shoulder into yours, you let him. And when he took you by the shoulders and slammed you into the wall, you let him.

Everyone in the hall stopped and then continued on their way.

He leaned in close enough for you to smell the smoke in his breath as he scoffed, “You’re the one they call a sewer rat, aren’t you?”

“Um, can I help you?” Marco asked with an awkward smile on his face. His lips twitched just slightly as he set a heavy hand over the one gripping you. He pulled at it futilely. “Hey, this isn’t cool to just go around hurting people, Porco.”

 _Porco’s_ friends around you laughed.

Marco seemed to know him, so you asked, keeping your eyes on the boy’s, “Who’s this?”

Porco’s smirk dropped instantly. His cheeks flushed and he pressed you harder against the wall, shooting Marco a threatening glower. It was clearly a warning to introduce him properly.

“P–Porco is the son of a politician from Marley,” your friend stuttered. “He’s part of the Galliard f–family.”

Porco whipped back around to watch your reaction. He only met your unimpressed, arched brow. You shrugged. He sneered. A thick forearm reached up to crush your throat. Your windpipe was abruptly pinched between him and the wall. You kept your cool and held your breath as your other eyebrow raised.

You didn’t know anyone from the Underground who’d never been choked before. If he thought you’d start to panic from something so simple, then he obviously didn’t really understand what a sewer rat was in the first place.

“I hate it when trash forgets their place,” he said, putting more weight into pinning you against the wall. “Don’t think that just because you’re friends with anyone it means you’re suddenly important.”

You hated the way he spoke, how the arrogance twisted the Marleyan lilt and made him growl. His neat look wasn’t intimidating anyone, but he carried that infuriating superiority in his shoulders when he stood. It was like the military police when they deigned to come down to the Underground in their wrinkle-free uniforms and polished boots.

“As a matter of fact," he said as if he could hear your thoughts, “I should make you lick the dirt off my shoe.”

You hated men like him. They’d gotten Isabel and now, it seemed that your turn was here.

Numbness crept into your fingers the longer you held your breath. Your chest was burning. And even as your eyes began to sting, you didn’t attempt inhalation. His forearm was still braced over your airway and you knew he’d feel it if you tried. You wouldn’t give anyone that satisfaction, not below or aboveground.

“I bet you’d do it if I wrote you a cheque.”

You wouldn’t in fact put your mouth anywhere near him for any amount of money. It must have shown in your expression, too, because he gritted his teeth and pushed you completely flat against the wall.

“You _would_.”

With another shove, he stepped away, holding your eyes. His friends cackled around him as they withdrew. It was over quickly. But even as they’d left, the weight of his hands was still digging into you, nicotine still clung to every breath you took and their snickering rang in your ears.

You swallowed past the ache in your throat. It would happen again, you knew. And while you could easily dismantle him if things escalated, it wouldn’t end well for you. If Galliard truly was the son of a foreign politician—a _Marleyan_ politician—the school, if not the law, would punish you to the full extent if you even glared in his general direction.

After all, Paradis was only a small country with a negative reputation for starting past international drama. Now under new governance, the country was eager for diplomatic ties around the world. You didn’t need to be well-versed in international politics to know how it would look for the son of a Marleyan politician to be _folded_ by a sewer rat at one of Paradis’ more prestigious universities.

Somehow, you’d managed to annoy Galliard and you had the sneaking suspicion that you should start packing up your things in your dorm room. You considered your options.

Marco grabbed your hand as you straightened. “W–wait, should I call Jean?”

Did you need to remind him that Jean had made it very clear that you weren’t friends anymore? Plus, it wasn’t as if Jean could help you anyway. He was wealthy, that much was true. But he wasn’t _foreign diplomat_ wealthy.

“It’s okay,” you assured Marco, giving him a nod. You continued down the hall. “Let’s just go get lunch, okay?”

Marco watched you leave, heart racing. His hands shook. Once again, he thought, his chest aching, he couldn’t help you. Your shoulders were squared although people closed in around you, murmuring. You were always like this, always marching forward without waiting for him, always so sure of what you had to do, always so certain that you had to do it on your own.

When Marco caught up with you, you were indifferent.

“Are you okay?” he asked, flittering around you as he checked for injuries.

You only made a humming noise. He was glad that you were letting him inspect you to ease his worries. Although your apathy made him tut at you, your unchanging disposition let his nervous hands settle.

“Marco, I’m from the Underground,” you reminded him, deadpan. Your throat throbbed in pain, but your voice was steady. “I promise you it didn’t even hurt.”

“Okay.” His entire body sagged as he sighed. The self-certainty in your voice was reassuring. “What did he even want?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you dismissed. “I’m fine. Now, come tell me more about the physics project you got assigned yesterday.”

You let Marco ramble about his class as you navigated the hall. Near the café, you met a long line spilling out of the doors. Immediately, you registered Jean a few people ahead. As much as you didn’t want to notice him, you’d branded that two-tone haircut in your memory since the very first moment you saw it.

He must have heard Marco’s voice because he turned around, expression mildly pleasant. And then, he spotted you next to his friend. Nostrils flaring, he called Marco’s name and demanded, “What are you doing?”

Marco blinked at him, smile bemused. “Going for lunch.”

“With her?”

Your lips pursed. Abruptly, you bid goodbye to Marco. He tried to tell you to stop, but you knew that, at the end of the day, he’d choose Jean over you. He might have been friendly with Eren, but if Jean was actively going out of his way to interrupt you two to force him to pick a side, then you didn’t want to stick around for the inevitable choice.

“Jean, really?” Marco began lecturing as you left.

This time, when your eyes began to sting again, it wasn’t because of Porco Galliard.

You headed back to your dorm. When you arrived at your door, someone sauntered down the hallway towards you with heavy, slow steps. Looking up, you saw Sasha, a blank gaze on her face that seemed jarring on her normally bright features. Even when she’d left Shadis’ class sobbing, it was with loud cries. You’d never seen her look so vacant.

“Sasha?” you called hesitantly. You frowned as she blinked sluggishly. A tired smile spread on her face, dimmed by her dark eye-bags. It was only the second day of the first week and she seemed as if she’d lived and died a hundred times over. You could empathise with the feeling and that concerned you. “You all right?”

She gnawed on her lip. “I... it’s just this guy that’s been—never mind,” she sighed.

You swallowed. “A guy’s bothering me, too.”

Her eyes lit up with incredulity. “Really? You?”

You shrugged, hands clenching around your key. “Yeah. Sometimes, it’s less about them knowing you can defend yourself and more about them knowing you _won’t_.”

Her eyes lowered at that. Restlessly, she scratched at her arm. “So, what—what do you do?”

“Tell my friends so they can help me out and keep the heat off my back,” you lied smoothly.

There wasn’t a chance in the world that you would involve Marco or even Jean in this Galliard situation. You didn’t even know what he wanted, what had made the switch flip from verbal to physical taunts. The last thing you wanted was for him to turn that attention to anybody who tried to defend you.

“Oh,” Sasha breathed. She mulled it over, dropping her hand from her arm. Nodding to herself, she steeled her resolve. “Yeah, you’re right.” She met your eyes, her smile more genuine this time as she nodded again. “You’re right. Thanks.”

Your job done, you nodded back and unlocked your door. “Later.”

“Hey, um,” Sasha started once you opened your door. When you turned to her, she didn’t make eye contact. “About Eren—he’s not a bad guy, okay? I know you’re Jean’s friend and Eren isn’t perfect, so I’m not saying you have to be friends with him or anything. But um, he’s not—”

“I wasn’t talking about E— _him_ ,” you cut in. He was the least of your problems right now.

“Oh.” She seemed to want to ask, but decided against it and said goodbye to you.

You stayed inside your room after that. The last thing you needed was to be cornered by Galliard and his crew again because you couldn’t resist the urge to go for a walk. While you doubted that any of them would still hang around the campus too late, it was risky to go out before you figured out their schedule. For now, you wanted to lie low. Maybe you’d just stay in tonight.

You wasted time on the internet until around ten o'clock and then settled in for the night. As you drifted off to sleep, your phone buzzed with an incoming text.

_Can we talk?_

Bile rushed up your throat.

And for the first time in years, you let your mind linger.

You could feel the flecks of dirt sprinkling into your face as the world had exploded around you. And then, there was Isabel’s eyes pleading with you first to run, hating you for hesitating and then thanking you for staying until the end as she went cold, her knife colder in your palm.

What would she think of you now? Probably nothing good, you thought, smiling sardonically to yourself. You’d left the Underground, where you were all subjected to the mercy of those in power, only to come aboveground and find yourself in too similar of a position. 

You turned on your side away from Farlan’s message.

Isabel only wanted you to be happy. You didn’t know how to do that for her, for _you_.

With a sigh, you got up and stuffed yourself into some clothes. Keeping an eye out for trouble, you headed to the convenience store ten minutes away from campus. You almost hoped you’d see Porco. Something in your gut twisted and pulled at your heart and you wanted to hurt so that it could just leave you alone.

“Hey!”

Connie was at the register. His smile fell when he saw your expression. There was a question he didn’t get to ask as you headed down the first aisle and froze. The place was generally empty, but there was no mistaking that face. At the back by a table, Eren was sleeping.

What was he even doing here so late? Didn’t he say that he lived almost an hour away from campus? You glanced back at the register. Connie’s eyes flickered away as he suddenly began to survey a crack in the counter. He probably had something to do with it.

 _Right, of course_ , you thought. Anytime Eren was doing something unusual, it was for a friend.

His head rested against the glass. The fluorescent lights reflected harshly off his tan skin. Long brown hair fell loosely and untamed around his face, softening the intensity of those high cheekbones and pointed nose, the severity of that frowning mouth, the sharpness of his jaw. And even like this, he was so effortlessly captivating.

You weren’t the only one observing him. Anyone who passed by casted him quick but returning looks as they entered and exited. A boy tripped over nothing, letting out a squeal as his friends laughed at him. There was a vulnerability you couldn’t identify with seeing him sleeping like this under so much attention. But you remembered how he’d become so intense and menacing. You knew—noted it admirably—that he’d be able to defend himself at least a little.

Even asleep, he looked unassailable. His bite marks were hidden with his arms folded. The spread of his broad shoulders down to the long legs in those sweatpants made him cut an impressive figure against the mundane backdrop of the store. He was clearly _somewhat_ comfortable with his surroundings. Yet, he looked so otherworldly as a passing car’s red lights blurred behind him through the glass. It was as if even the world slowed to study him.

It made you a little envious, truthfully, how easy it seemed for him. But you knew it wasn’t. You could see how he frowned in his sleep and tensed. You could remember hearing the self-loathing in his voice when he doubted that Christa was happy to have him back. You could see how his friends had nervously hovered around him when he was protecting Armin.

You sighed.

At first, you only—really, _really_ —wished Eren didn’t look so much like Isabel. Ignoring his existence would've been a far less complicated affair that way. It was unfortunate for you that everything else about him was familiar, too, though.

You took a small coffee cup and went to the self-serve machines. It only took you a few moments to find the hazelnut coffee dispenser. You grabbed a bag of chips and a bottle of water, forgetting what you’d come for in the first place. Connie rang you up, trying not to make his glances at your face too obvious.

You turned back around and dumped your things on the table in front of Eren. He stirred immediately. You were glad that he wasn’t _too_ careless. His eyes fluttered open. You left. As you passed by outside, his eyes scalded the barrier between you. You felt it as though there was nothing there at all, as if the heaviness of his attention was as tangible as the wind kissing your neck.

When you gave in and looked—because of course you would—Eren raised his coffee in a silent thank you. He nodded, rapt eyes tracking yours. To meet that earnest gaze without any feeling was a Sisyphean task; with a calm sort of certainty, you knew that you were panicking as your stomach turned. But even with that dread, it felt surprisingly simple to breathe and return his nod.

You tucked your hands into your pockets and kept walking.

Marco was right, you supposed.

Eren _did_ have an effect on people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren wasn’t exactly Prince Charming, but no one ever needed him to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A little violence gets mentioned—nothing too graphic yet, I don't think

Eren leaned against the door and gritted his teeth.

His stomach hadn’t stopped aching at the smallest of movements. It spasmed under his light, experimental touches. He tossed aside his bag, wincing, and staggered into the bathroom. All around him, light caught on glossy, stainless surfaces.

Clenching his jaw, he ripped open his school shirt. Buttons flew. They clinked loudly against gleaming floors. Even more brightly, the chandelier loomed over him. Everything was so empty and large and spacious and polished and suffocating. He couldn’t _breathe_.

He couldn’t fit all his sharp edges into this glass dollhouse.

Earlier, he’d lost count of the blows. All his effort had went into keeping himself upright as fists had sunk into his stomach. His knees were buckling under his weight by the time Porco and his friends were done with him. And then, the boy had done the worst thing. He’d opened his mouth.

_“Poor Jaeger. Daddy ran away again, so now you come to live with his leftovers? I wonder what Mommy’s back home thinking? Oh...wait!”_

He’d started swinging then. And he kicked and shoved and _stomped_. Bone snapped and people screamed and he’d returned to that place in the back of his head where his control splintered and burst at the seams.

Blinking away the memory, he balled up his bloody collar and stuffed it into his mouth. He bit down on the fabric and pulled up his undershirt. Darker splotches greeted him once his clothes were out of the way. His skin was mottled with them.

Gingerly, he prodded at his blackened left rib cage. Pain—white-hot and searing—lanced up his side. His body _throbbed_ with it. His head spun and he had to stifle a groan. Porco hadn’t held back.

Whatever had set him off, it had consumed him completely. He hadn’t even seemed to recognise himself when he first stumbled away from Eren’s slouched form, fists still trembling with the strain of exertion. Too bad he couldn’t resist the urge to take a parting shot. He might have been able to walk away in victory if he’d left without further verbal provocation.

“Ah,” Zeke said, finding Eren glaring at himself in the bathroom mirror.

He only blinked at the reflection of those eyes. They were his father’s eyes all right. They weren’t quite so narrowed with the despondency that the man had before vanishing, but they were unblinking with the same fire he’d seen during his parents’ arguments. He’d only needed to take one look at Eren’s grainy baby picture before he accepted the truth of their sibling-ship. Grisha created ugly, beautiful, _angry_ things.

Zeke stayed where he was in the doorway. “The Tyburs are on the phone.”

A cream court coat hugged his broad shoulders, curving back just below the ribs to show the deep red waistcoat beneath it. Golden threads lined the embroidered velvet and satin. His plain breeches and neat black shoes only drew attention to his flashy upper-half. The sheen of his royal ensemble under these already gaudy lights was obnoxious.

“Mom’s looking for you.”

It was most likely that Dina was downstairs wearing something equally ornate and fitting for her title. He was fed up with the two of them coming back in their expensive clothes and hovering around him.

“What did you do?”

Eren ignored him. He rifled through his makeshift first-aid kit. He should have more analgesic patches left. Once he had a shower, he would slap on a fresh one over the worst of the bruising and call it a day—that is, if Dina and Zeke would let him seethe in peace.

“I assumed Grisha sent you over here to calm down. Why are you getting involved in fights?”

Eren whirled around, fists clenched. “Really?” he asked. His voice was guttural, raw. “I didn’t even know you and Dina existed last month and I’m supposed to just—just _calm down_? Just come to this country I never came to before where everybody’s trying to piss me off and take my picture? And I’m supposed to just act like Dina’s my mom and you’re—you’re my brother?”

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “You _are_ my brother,” he said firmly.

Eren scoffed, “Wish I could say the same.”

A muscle in Zeke’s jaw jumped. Eren’s anger was infectious. Whereas Dina had schooled him to pretend that he wasn’t affected by his father’s abandonment, Eren was cracking open a part of him he wanted no business with—and still, he felt his tongue slip.

“I know that you’re upset. You’re not the only one Grisha neglected,” he reminded him. “When he left, he _left_. I barely heard from that man and suddenly, almost two decades later, he brought you to us. And like usual, he fled again without even talking. So, I understand how you feel.”

“You don’t! You could never understand how I feel!” Eren exploded. “You knew I was out there and you never reached out to me! And at least you still—” He slammed his fist against the countertop behind him, leaving a bloody imprint. His voice broke like shattered glass and cut deeply into Zeke. “At least you still have a mom!”

Zeke felt his heart twist.

He ran a hand through his beard and then through his hair. No one had prepared him for Eren Jaeger. His life was of such quiet, outward coldness epitomising royal behaviour that he had no experience to guide him through Eren’s outbursts. His brother felt so deeply, so unrestrainedly, so _honestly_.

It was so much like Grisha that it wounded him. Clearly, the man had put _some_ effort into raising at least one of them. Still, he kept his secretive ways, it seemed. Eren was just as confused and lost and angry as they all were seventeen years ago when Grisha first disappeared from Liberio.

Overnight, his brother had gone from Eren Jaeger to Jäger. He’d transformed from being the sole son of the reclusive Shiganshina village doctor Grisha Jaeger into being the _younger_ son of _the_ Grisha Jäger, the royal Fritz family’s trusted doctor and runaway husband of the Duchess of Liberio. Between Grisha keeping a low profile in Paradis and Dina not being influential enough to cross into Paradis’ mainstream news, Zeke knew that Eren had lived a simple, oblivious life. He was a nobody.

But in Marley, there were always too many eyes on the boy. There were questions surrounding the legitimacy of his surname and his parents’ marriage. And his mother wasn’t around to defend herself from claims that she’d knowingly stolen Grisha away from his _real_ family.

She couldn’t have known, Zeke had come to understand once he’d stopped being angry.

It wasn’t possible for her to in a place as rural and technologically backward as Shiganshina.

And now in Marley, his little brother suddenly had grandparents and an aunt called Fay who didn’t know how to talk to him. He had a brother a decade older who knew Grisha in ways he couldn’t. He had a _step_ -mother called Dina Fritz who was apparently royalty.

He had Mikasa, but he was alone. He was the one whose angry, scowling face was in newspapers and on TV in Marley. He was the one being taunted at school about his parents, about his father who was suddenly a different man here than in Paradis.

Zeke had understood this, too. “You’re right that maybe I don’t understand exactly how you feel. But you’re my brother, Eren,” he said softly. “Even if I was upset, I always knew that. And I won’t allow that pain to distance me from you or define our relationship because...”

Eren turned back around and clutched unto the sink. A trickle of blood splashed against the pristine porcelain. Those burning eyes met Zeke’s in the mirror. “Because?”

“I’ve decided a long time ago not to be blinded by pain and especially not by anger. If I let my anger consume me, then I’d be lost to the things most important in life.”

_“If I let my anger consume me, then I’d be lost to the things most important in life.”_

_If I let my anger consume me, then I’d be lost to the things most important in life._

Eren repeated it to himself once, twice, thrice as Marco told him how Galliard had put his hands on you. The freckled boy was fiddling with his drink, avoiding his eyes as he spoke. He seemed a little reticent as he explained how you hadn’t reacted much to it.

Eren thought of how you pulled your knife on Armin and wondered why Galliard was different when he’d actually physically assaulted you. Had you known that fighting against Galliard was risky? _Or_ had you decided that him, Armin and Mikasa were bigger threats?

Truthfully, he wanted to ask Marco if Jean had told you what he’d done in Shiganshina that day. But the café was crowded and it wasn’t the place to incriminate himself. He didn’t trust the noisiness of their surroundings to safeguard his secrets.

Marco sighed softly. “Normally, people just say things,” he lamented.

So, you had a reputation, Eren thought.

But of course it would be Galliard to escalate things. He had his father’s ego. Even as a politician, the man’s only accolade had been that he was childhood friends with Willy, the head of the Tybur military family who officially governed Marley. _Eren_ had more influence in Marley than that.

“And it’s bad, but it’s not this bad. She hasn’t returned any of my messages from yesterday and I just...I’m worried that she took what he said to heart.”

Eren’s shoulders stiffened, mind abruptly remembering those tears in your eyes on Monday night.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Marco said hopelessly. “Everything’s messy right now between her and Jean and—” He stopped at Eren’s sharp look of curiosity. Blushing, he explained, “They had a falling out over something that I said that I probably should’ve waited for her to say on her own. But I was trying to help because I know Jean would’ve blown up about it. Guess I only made it worse.”

That was suspiciously vague, Eren thought, giving him a considering look.

Marco smiled awkwardly. “What—what do you think of her?”

Eren shrugged, turning away, fingers squeezing around his glass. “Not sure.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie either. He wasn’t certain that he’d formed any concrete opinion yet. He didn’t know what to think. He only knew that he couldn’t _stop_ thinking. You were cold, but everything about you seemed to smoulder. Whenever you looked at him, he felt gouged out and bruised.

You were confusing, but you made him think a lot.

When you’d spoken to him, you scoffed at the idea of apologising to Armin. But you did so anyway, even offering an explanation. You clearly didn’t like socialising too much, but you were easy-going enough for Sasha and Connie to like you. You even had Ymir’s respect.

And the few things that Levi had said about you...

Yet, you couldn’t seem to tolerate talking to him. But you’d bought him coffee and snacks while he waited for Connie’s shift to be over so he could take him home. You bought him _hazelnut_ coffee. It could’ve been a coincidence, but he didn’t think it was. You paid a lot of attention.

He didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. He just wished you’d _talk_ to him and tell him what you knew about him because you _had_ to know if you kept your distance like you did. He minded that.

Glancing surreptitiously around the café, he tried not to let his disquiet show on his face. There was something daunting about so openly admitting, “I don’t think she likes me.”

Marco’s look was soft and encouraging when he asked, “Do you want her to?”

It suddenly felt as if all the eyes in the café were on him, as if all ears were turned in his direction. Even the blond who sat behind Marco with his back turned to them seemed to tense in anticipation of his answer. Eren’s skin crawled.

He took a long sip of his iced tea. The metal straw was cooling, but he felt hot. He’d forgotten how compelling Marco could be. It was a little unsettling at times. You were in good company, then, as you and Marco both seemed to be able to throw him off.

He said honestly, “It feels stupid to say, but yeah. I don’t want her to misunderstand me.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Marco confessed solemnly. “I think you’d be able to understand each other better than any of us could.”

Eren rested his cheek on his palm. He wasn’t as naïve anymore. He wouldn’t begrudge Marco his optimism, but the world was a cruel place. And maybe you would understand, but there was just enough chance that his past would repel you, too.

He sat in silence for a moment before digressing. “I’ll handle Porco,” he decided. Marco gasped at him and started to protest. “Look,” he interrupted gently, “I’ve dealt with Galliard before. He’s not going to listen to a speech about morals or any appeals to humanity. He only understands ego.”

He didn’t advocate for violence anymore, but Galliard needed a good boot to the jaw every now and again to set him right, it seemed. He had no doubt that you could do just that. He _wanted_ to see you do it. But it wouldn’t end well for you on your own.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Marco said, squirming.

Eren gave him a tight smile as he stood. “I won’t.”

His friends knew, too. That’s why they told him things despite fearing his temper. He supposed there wasn’t much point in being known as the angry friend if he couldn’t use his temper to solve his friends’ more serious problems. And it didn’t benefit him to be _the rich one_ if he couldn’t use his privilege to their advantage.

Mikasa wasn’t going to be happy about this. He’d promised her to keep a low profile, but ghosts lingered wherever he went. In Trost, Shiganshina hung over him like rain clouds. He’d tried to put Paradis behind him in Marley and then Reiner, Annie and Bertholdt had shown up and cornered him into conversation. And now that he was in Paradis again, Galliard’s face had haunted him.

“I think you’re more alike than you realise,” Marco murmured, thinking of how he’d become so familiar with the image of your fearless stance in front of him, of your back to him as you faced the world alone.

But Eren only waved him off as he went.

The blond behind them waited for a moment before leaving, too.

And this time, when Porco and his little crew cornered you again, they knew for a fact that they’d get Eren’s attention.

It was time to settle the score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You understood better than most people that you couldn't always fight back. It still broke you a little every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: violence, traumatic flashbacks to childhood experiences—Kenny and his crew are dicks, basically. Porco, too. Eren drops an f bomb somewhere

Kenny was coming for you.

Writhing trails of smoke took to the air from the blown out candles, disappearing as they fled into the abrupt darkness. Coldness crept into your bare feet and numbed everything but your throbbing fingers. You’d accidentally smashed a rock into your hand again and again trying to help your father board up the door with rusty nails. But it wouldn’t hold for long. The howling laughter outside vibrated all around—in the door, in the walls, in your bones—and the night trembled with you.

Kenny the Ripper was coming for you.

The men outside had wanted you to run an errand for them. But you didn’t know what happened to some of the other children who went away with adults to do favours. Sometimes, they came back with full bellies and pockets, but sometimes, they never came back at all. Sometimes, they disappeared into the night and never so much as haunted these tunnels again. You had your papa to come back to. You couldn’t risk it.

Kenny the Throat Slasher was coming for you.

You had said no. You had been as polite as you could— _well_ _no, sirs, I can’t, sirs, so sorry, sirs_ —just as your papa had always told you to be. But you hadn’t been careful. They’d followed you back after you’d finished your game of marbles with some of the other sewer rats. They’d bargained with your father only because they were sure that the man would agree. If not for the potential sadistic pleasure of watching your face fall as your papa sold you out for the right price, they’d have simply taken you instead.

Kenny the Underground Stalker was coming for you.

It was nothing dangerous, they’d said, inviting themselves in with shotguns longer than you thrown casually over their shoulders. They’d crowded around your papa, swearing that they only needed someone _small and quick_. Your _heart_ was small and quick, suddenly. And maybe you could be that for them if it meant that your papa would stop shaking. But he had said no, too.

Kenny Ackerman the Smiling Serial Killer was coming for you.

They’d left, but your papa had known better. He’d immediately started sealing the entrance—because there was no other place to run away or hide from these cackling animals. They’d barked at him to open the door when they first returned. And he’d yelled back at them to go away, to show mercy. He’d shouted at you to keep away from the door. But when the heavy wood had burst open with shotgun slugs an hour later, your papa had been the one standing in front of it.

_“Your daddy shoulda known better.”_

Kenny Ackerman the Demon, the Underground Devil was coming for you—

 _No_.

You squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them again, Stohess snapped back into focus. That was the surface Ackerman stalking towards you instead. You pressed the heel of your palm into your temple, trying to force the memory back wherever it’d come from so suddenly. Well. Not suddenly. You hadn’t been keeping yourself together very well recently. It’d been easier to pretend you were fine until this trio appeared.

“Levi speaks highly of you.”

You went stiff, eyes unseeing for a moment. Your pulse pounded in your ears—once, twice—and then went silent. Bile stung your throat. And suddenly, the bustling lunchtime hallway went quiet, too. You weren’t even sure you were breathing at one point, but then something crashed in the distance and you took in a deep breath.

You blinked away the fog and found Armin’s concerned eyes on you. The Ackerman’s was more assessing. Neither of them had even glanced at the freshman frantically apologising to the screaming girl he’d spilled his lunch all over. You wished they’d look at that instead.

You kept silent, watching the water fill your flask. You’d expected conversation although you were sure you’d made it particularly clear that you didn’t want one. The Ackerman didn’t care.

“And Farlan said that you’re ignoring his calls,” she continued pointedly, like she couldn’t see the way your jaw clenched, like you weren’t standing around the same water fountain at Stohess University, like she was condemning you to stay in that dark underworld, like she was sentencing you to die there with your father, with Isabel.

“Hey,” Armin said nervously, squirming.

“ _Mikasa_.”

And that was the brunet. He’d slowed down behind his friends when the trio first spotted you, looking hesitant. No doubt he was wondering if your attempt at civility last night still applied, especially with his friends hovering. Now, though, he stood between you and them.

“Stop.”

His voice rang clearly and he was looking at you in that piercing way he always seemed to do. Even in your brief interactions, you felt like the only thing in the universe under his intense scrutiny. It wasn’t fair that he looked so earnest. It wasn’t fair that he could stand there looking like Isabel and still being so much himself that it forced you to see him, too. It wasn’t fair that he seemed so careful with you.

Your grip on your flask tightened. Your skin crawled. Your throat was closing up. You didn’t like how he gazed at you like this. His hair was pulled back into that bun and his eyes looked _soft_. You hated it. You hated that everything in you couldn’t stomach it right now—or ever. Anybody that looked at you like that either ended up disappointed or dead.

_“Your daddy shoulda known better.”_

You refocused on filling your water.

There was some shuffling around you in the awkward silence. You didn’t have to look up to know that they were exchanging glances. The Ackerman’s eyes cut into your skin. Eventually, she grabbed the blond and hauled him a few feet away, still very much within earshot even with the loud lunch rush.

A throat cleared.

“Marco’s worried about you and about Galliard—is that who you meant when you told Sasha a guy was bothering you?”

You tensed, but didn’t look directly at him. “You the designated person to go to for emotional support?”

He huffed a little. “Something like that...”

So, he was their attack dog, you deduced. As much as the Ackerman was always ready to defend, it was obvious that Eren was the one more likely to go on offence. You thought back to how they’d called him over when you drew your knife on Monday night, even as they hung back a little. It made your chest knot up.

With a voice so sincere that your heart ached hearing it, he said, “Let me help you.”

You clenched and unclenched your fists. “We aren’t friends.”

He bit his lips and looked away, muttering, “The only time you plan to help someone is when you’re friends with them?”

You forced a shrug to seem nonchalantly cruel when you said, “Not even then. Didn’t leave the Underground to come up here and get myself involved in nothing stupid for other people.”

You really hadn’t. But to say it made you feel sick. You were a rat no matter what, whether a wild sewer one or Jean and Marco’s temporary pet. You hadn’t even trusted them to stick around anyway and you’d promised yourself to look out for your own interests before anybody else’s. Yet, you couldn’t.

“I don’t believe you,” Eren decided ever since he realised that your dismissive words didn’t match your actions. “You bought me coffee—”

“—which wasn’t an invitation to talk to me,” you finished pointedly.

It was such an unnecessarily antagonistic thing to say after you’d been the one to initiate the interaction last night. The taste of those words stung. But with Kenny haunting you and Porco lingering around, you preferred to keep your distance from anyone who could get hurt in the crossfire.

“Then, what was it?” he pressed.

The water in your flask overflowed. The abrupt coldness on your fingers made you jolt. Eren hadn’t moved at all and you were beginning to wonder if you’d actually broken him just like you ruined everything else.

The metal cover of your flask clinked noisily as you tried to twist it back into place. Your hands shook for a moment. You sighed, thinking of Eren leaning into your knife to protect Armin. It calmed you a little. You had to be that for Jean, for Marco, for _him_. You had to be that rat.

“You looked pathetic,” you intoned, hands settling. You didn’t look at him anymore. “Every time I see you, you’re trying so hard to be good to your friends. Doing all these things, being whatever they need, making yourself vulnerable just so they’d stop being scared of you—”

“You don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about.”

There was a darkness in that tone he’d used. And with those green eyes crashing into you, it was as if some storm had started forming over the sea in the distance. You didn’t want to be stranded here in it. But the longer you hesitated to walk away, the more you felt caught up in the swelling ocean current.

“You don’t know anything about me or my friends, no matter what Jean told you.”

And that was genuine anger, thunderous and loud, in his voice. You still didn’t look at him. You thought he might see you breaking if you faced him. And you didn’t want the softness he was going to show you. You were too used to standing in front of Jean and Marco to let yourself _want_ to be comforted—even if Eren looked like he could take you at your worst.

Because he _did_ look like he’d understand the exhaustion setting in on you. He looked like he understood grief and regret and resignation. 

Maybe he'd be the only one to understand how, truthfully, when you’d come aboveground, you were utterly disappointed. The surface had long been ruined before you knew it had existed—endless wars, sadistic gods, dirty oceans and these spinning, spinning, spinning floors. You’d been dizzy ever since you’d taken that first step out from the Underground. Jean and Marco had made you feel as close to normal as you’d ever felt.

But caring about others made you poison them. And that sickness in you had no antidote in this already contaminated world. So, it was better for Eren to understand that now. It was better for him to understand and for you to use it to protect him.

The Ackerman, at the end of her patience, took a long step forward.

“Eren, let's go, it's not worth—”

Her voice cut off as you slipped into the crowd.

 _Of_ _course_ you weren't worth it.

_“Your daddy shoulda known better.”_

Kenny was right.

_“Your daddy shoulda known better.”_

But really, you should’ve as well.

_“Your daddy shoulda—”_

“—known better,” Porco was saying. “You’re just a coward.”

You blinked slowly.

Above the science and agriculture department building was a greenhouse. You hadn’t remembered blindly following them there when they’d cornered you following your afternoon class, but now the warm air swelled around you. In the heat, their cologne suddenly became unbearable. You felt it infect you, felt your blood stinging in your veins.

Even in their posh outfits bought with their parents’ money, somehow, their expressions were so filthy. Their gazes dripped like sludge over your skin. The grime of it briefly clouded your eyes and dragged you back downstairs. Blurring, the five before you seemed to twist and morph until they were those bastards that hooted and cooed at you and your father before they destroyed your life and stole his.

_“Your daddy shoulda known better.”_

You took a discreet breath. It punctured you so deeply that there was blood in your throat and agony in your soul and cold in your stomach. It tore at your lungs so furiously that you couldn’t breathe anymore for a long moment, so you let the memory go. You’d dealt with petty monsters before. And you would have to again. Aboveground wasn’t so different after all.

All the same, the floor was hard and dirty under your back.

You took the beating—had been on the wrong side of the Ackermans’ strength too many times to not be able to. With physical blows, you’d take it on the chin if it meant that they lost interest in you and forgot about Marco. But the look in their eyes when they swung at you was less disciplinary Levi and more psychotic Kenny. One, you could manage. The other...

_“Your daddy shoulda known better.”_

“Get the phone,” Porco instructed.

The taller boy standing over you pulled his shoe out of your gut. He leered down at you and you fought back the urge to go for the eyes with your fingers. You kept your breath even as he retrieved your phone from the floor next to you and then handed it over. For a brief moment, Porco fiddled with the old, cracked thing. His eyebrows furrowed as he tapped and scrolled.

The other boys crowded around him. Their eyes narrowed at your screen. Some held their phones closely and squirmed with anticipation, cameras pointed at the door. But no one was coming. You used their distraction to quietly catch your breath.

“Stop fidgeting,” Porco hissed. “If Eren’s back in Paradis, then it means his Marleyan naturalisation didn’t get approved—and _that_ means he’s nobody important here either. He’s fair game. No one’s going to care if we rough him up a little.”

You rolled your eyes, regretting it immediately when your vision swam. 

You didn’t understand much of what Porco and Eren’s history was, but you now knew that, all this time, he’d really only been after Eren. This entire first week had dragged and limped along ever since that brunet had shown up in Shadis’ class. And you were tired of it. You were tired of Jean hating you, you were tired of Marco trying to do the right thing, you were tired of the way you could blame no one but yourself for this. You were angry that you couldn’t even blame Eren just a little bit.

If you hadn’t gotten Isabel killed, his eyes wouldn’t have startled you so much. If they hadn’t, you wouldn’t have reacted that way to him and Marco wouldn’t have started making assumptions. If you hadn’t lied and gone along with his misunderstanding, Jean wouldn’t be angry with you. And if you hadn’t panicked with Armin, Porco would have never seen Eren and you interacting.

Eventually, Porco looked up at you and demanded, “You don’t have his number?” You stared. He let out a long breath through his nose. “You have the same friends. You must have some way to reach him.”

You raised your brows, wondering if he was stupid.

Porco growled. “I saw you. You had a knife and Eren still let you go and Colt”—he gestured at one of the blonds behind him—“told me he admitted to your friend that he wants you to like him.” He was hissing at you now. His breath whistled through clenched teeth. “He’d come if you called, _so call him_.”

Your jaw clenched.

It was clear to you that whatever _Porco_ had done, he hadn’t been quite so lucky as you to escape Eren’s wrath. You’d seen that type of jealousy before down below when you ran with Levi, had felt it scratch at your skin from all the other children he hadn’t thought to save, from all the other rats he’d scorned and didn’t approve of to join his crew.

Porco had that same spiteful look.

Sighing, you rose to your feet. The world almost spun out from beneath you. Only experience getting your ass handed to you kept you from completely losing your balance. Their cameras were on you again, like they were just waiting for you to snap so that they could use it against you if you gave them too much trouble.

So far, the only thing they’d captured was purely incriminating on their part. You were almost as good at taking punishment as dealing it out. You weren't going to fight back, not really. You couldn’t.

Whatever this _Colt_ boy had thought he’d heard, it’d made them eager and stupid and reckless. They hadn’t even bothered not to seem threatening when they’d first come for you. It was stupid, really. He had to be lying to them.

Eren couldn't want anything from you. Regardless, you absolutely wouldn’t play damsel in distress to lure him. You made sure your shrug was particularly infuriating when you told them this.

“You understand what’s going to happen to you if you don’t call him, right?”

The boys behind Porco glared at you in your defiant silence, but their eyes flickered unsurely to their leader.

His voice dropped as he decided, “If you’re not going to bring Eren to us, then we’re going to give him a reason to come on his own.”

A flush of adrenaline went through you. It was as if even your skin was eager to meet the new threat as it rose in goose bumps. Your mounting disinterest sharpened to alertness. _Run_ , was a thought that sounded vaguely like Isabel’s muffled voice in your ears. Your heart picked up. _Get outta there, now,_ was another that sounded like Farlan. Your fists clenched.

But if it wasn’t you, then it would be Marco. And you were already cracking, barely managing to ignore the tempest brewing in your mind. If Marco got hurt, _you’d lose it_. So, you stayed. 

Porco stormed towards you. He grabbed you by your t-shirt collar. The cheap fabric stretched and gave in easily. You pretended to as well, letting yourself fall when he pulled you down. His kneecap rushed up to meet your stomach. Quickly, you slipped a palm between you to absorb some of the force.

A pulsing pain shot through your hand from his knee slamming into it.

 _Bastard_.

There was a malicious glint in his eyes as you feigned stumbling back. You barely had time to tense before he was springing at you again. You spun. Twisting out of the way on your right foot, your left leg extended. He was charging at you so fast that there was no time to stop. He went tripping over your foot and into some potted plants. And he hit the ground _hard_.

Stems snapped under his weight. Leaves crunched. The noise reverberated almost endlessly in your chest. He was unmoving for an eternity. It went suspiciously silent. Then, he was looking at you. Blood droplets beaded on his scratched forehead. They gathered around the loose soil on his face and dripped slowly into his eyes now wide with an incredulous madness.

With all the green around you, it made the red on his face even more jarring. But that would at least help you pretend that you were fighting back just a little. And they’d be less inclined to go after Marco if they satisfied themselves thinking they’d stomped the fight out of you rather than if you’d clearly surrendered.

You wiped the blood from your mouth. “Going to stay down there all day?” 

His friends lunged at you.

It was Mikasa’s easy deduction that steadied you when you took another fist to the gut.

_“You’re from the Underground.”_

And that was all you’d ever be.

You really hated the Ackermans.

“I told you, don’t hit her face too much! Jaeger needs to recognise her!”

You closed your eyes as they kicked—

—what was left of the door off of the hinges. They swarmed inside, drunk and loud, sober and smirking. The scent of rum and gunpowder was acid in your nostrils that burned through you. Your feet wouldn’t move. Your heart didn’t feel small anymore. It had swollen right up into your throat. You shook with every loud thud of it. And the men sang along to the pitiful rhythm, shoving each other around playfully. It was all very festive, except that your papa was leaning against the wall trying to keep his organs from pouring out of his stomach.

Your papa had begged, prayed, murmured to you, “Dar...ling...”

You dropped the rock in your hand.

Then, that long shadow of a man had come frolicking inside, catching your papa as he collapsed. You’d almost hoped. No, in all your innocence, you _had_ hoped that he’d help. With your tiny, swollen heart you’d begged and prayed, too. Still, he held your father by the back of his neck and grinned at you. Those sharp teeth had winked at you like ambers. His eyes had gleamed like embers. And his men were snickering at you. They’d enjoyed your misery one way or the other.

“You’re gonna starve t’death,” Kenny Ackerman the Unfeeling Psychopath had said. “An’ when you’re hungry, you’re gonna come find me an’ beg me t’make runs an’ maybe I’ll say no, too.”

He dragged your papa’s trembling body close to where you stood frozen. He whipped a knife from his pocket, jabbing the sharp end under your chin to force your wide eyes to focus on him. And then, Kenny Ackerman the Throat-Slashing Ripper had made good on his name and slit your father’s throat.

The only person in the world who cared about you gave one pitiful choking cough and then went still. His face smashed into the ground when he was let go. He didn’t fight back, didn’t say anything, didn’t leave you any parting words of discipline. Your papa had simply...stopped.

“Your daddy shoulda known better,” Kenny Ackerman had said as he orphaned you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it's been forever since I last posted. 
> 
> This new semester's really tough, so I'm really thankful that you guys are reading and commenting! It keeps me motivated😭


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you were both already a little too trusting of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: hi guys, just wanted to take a quick moment to remind you guys to be aware of the emergency/evacuation procedures relevant to you and the area you live in, especially if it's prone to natural disasters. Stay safe, everyone! And let's be mindful of those who aren't or can't be ♥️

A bright flash blinded him.

Eren swallowed as Zeke pinned the silver badge to the red sash at his waist. His elder brother clearly knew what he was doing, having already dressed himself in all these sashes and badges and medals for years now. And today, he’d named every piece of decoration that was lain out before them in expensive glass cases that looked a lot like this open, bright room.

Zeke’s own medals were numerous. They formed a prismatic patch over his chest like sharp-edged puzzle pieces of some abstract artwork. A few were earned by birth right, by his title as Earl Zeke Jäger. The others he’d picked up by holding various positions in office. The only one the brothers shared was in the shape of the star on Marley’s flag.

It denoted that its wearer belonged to the House of Fritz.

Eren’s accolades were more rounded and softer in colour. He’d done an impressive amount of community service and volunteering during his attempts to reform. And while some Marleyans thought him insincere, Dina had told him that he’d amassed some particularly devoted fans who defended him at every chance on public forums.

It had all begun very simply—one leaked picture of him helping to restore part of the country’s historical railway tracks, shirt pulled up halfway to wipe the perspiration from his face, sweat-slicked muscles exposed. And then had come the memes, the strange video edits of him on social media, the _digging_. Eren hadn’t understood why some people liked his scowling face just as much as his smiling one. But he understood well enough the legitimate concerns that had arisen once the entertainment had brought awareness of his existence to wider audiences.

Suddenly, people were asking about him and not just in relation to Grisha or Dina or Zeke.

_“Where did you go to school?”_

_“Would you consider yourself Marleyan?”_

_“Can you comment on your arrest in Paradis a few years ago in relation to—”_

Another flash went off and the air rushed out of him.

Zeke’s side-eye was curious, but he let Dina be the one to brush a gentle hand over Eren’s cheek. She’d finally stopped crying just a few minutes ago and they’d all—even the eager photographer snapping away—pretended not to see her sniffling as she stood observing them.

“What’s the matter, love? Nervous?” she asked, giving him a trembling smile.

Zeke scoffed at the thought.

Eren had never been nervous, only agitated. He’d seethed throughout this entire naturalisation process. It was annoying when approval was held up in court for the past few years simply due to the spelling of his last name—though there was ample proof that Grisha was in fact his father, including DNA test results. He hated being at the centre of petty politics.

Last year, he’d finally been recognised as Marleyan by descent. Some government officials were even more incensed by that given the country’s complicated history with Paradis and his father’s past of worming his way into the royal family. It hadn’t taken long for the nickname _Eren Jaeger the Usurper_ to emerge in the social circles of the more bigoted top-ranking officials.

It had alarmed Dina. To offer him more protection and validity, she had proposed adoption. Eren hadn’t taken it too well at first, but he’d passed the point of having a trigger temper and they’d all sat down for a mature conversation. It was for the best, he had accepted.

He wasn’t awarded any courtesy titles upon adoption as he wouldn’t be Dina’s eldest son, but he was officially dubbed _Master_ Eren Jäger, House of Fritz.

Once he’d returned to Paradis—and to his life of being a nobody—Reiner, Annie and Bertholdt had kept him up-to-date on the situation. Some were under the assumption that he’d been scorned by the Marleyan government and deported in disgrace. But truthfully, Dina had hushed the approval of his naturalisation and adoption as he wasn’t ready to face the press.

And the Tyburs definitely knew, but Eren was willing to bet that Porco didn’t.

“Eren?”

The photographer took the cue of his silent stare and slipped out of the room.

“There’s...someone I need to tell you about,” he admitted when the man left.

He thought of your cool tone and your shaking hands and your bruising words. It was unnerving how quickly you’d understood which buttons to push to deter him from his original goal of talking to you about Porco. He thought of how he’d done the same to everyone, trying to push them away so he could bear the brunt of his fate alone. He hated that he hadn’t seen through you as easily as you did him.

“I beg your pardon,” Zeke said, pinning the final medal to him. “Don’t tell me you flew over here in a hurry to announce yourself for a girl,” he said dryly. “Want to borrow my coronet so you can send her pictures of you in it?”

Dina swatted at him and his cheeks flushed even as he asserted that he was too old to be reprimanded. “Ignore your brother, dear,” she coaxed, cupping Eren’s cheeks and refocusing his attention before he and Zeke could get into their usual banter. “What’s the matter?”

“I think Porco might hurt her,” he said. All humour drained from their expressions. “I’m suspicious of why he went after her, but I don’t want to wait for it to escalate.”

Zeke looked considering. “Do you need an official endorsement?”

 _Translation_ , Eren thought, _do you need the royal family to approve your violence?_

His nod was curt. “I might. I’m sorry for rushing you guys to organise everything. But really, thank you,” he said a little breathlessly, “for everything you’ve done for me, Dina, Zeke. I’m glad that...I have you as family.”

Zeke exchanged a glance with his mother. They both took a moment to look at Eren with his hair loose and eyes bright. Carla had softened Grisha’s genes so that he was pretty almost, even with those sharp features. Her touch on Eren’s character was so gentle that he’d come such a long way, even with that temper.

Dina kissed his cheek. “Already a proper Marleyan gentleman, look at you. Tell us what you need and we’ll see to it.”

Zeke made a sound of agreement. “When do we meet her?”

Eren shook his head. “It’s not like that. We don’t know each other very well yet.”

“‘Yet’, huh.”

His cheeks flushed slightly. “We don’t have friendly interactions. She’s friends with Jean from Trost—and it’s stupid.”

She tucked his hair behind his ears. “It’s all right. Go on.”

Eren pulled his lip between his teeth, looking away. His face felt hot, his throat even hotter. Just remembering the way you’d clearly been uncomfortable made him restless. He’d thought that you buying him coffee had meant something. And maybe it was all the teasing from his friends getting to him, but he’d wanted it to.

As much as he couldn’t hope, he had. It wasn’t fair of him to assume that just because you were from the Underground, violence wouldn’t disturb you. But it was really his only chance. He felt foolish. His thumbs were throbbing, tempting a quick fix for the turmoil.

He took a deep breath instead. “She’s scared of me.”

He waited for the dismissal, for the snort, for the disbelief—or maybe even the agreement that he was terrifying.

“Grisha frightened me, too,” Dina said quietly, squeezing his hands.

The breath left the two brothers.

“He was so passionate and so intelligent and so, so fierce,” she said wistfully, smile forlorn. “One of the most brilliant minds in Marley with a rebellious past—and how was a girl who’d been locked away all her life with rules and traditions supposed to keep up with that?”

Eren swallowed. “Dina...”

“I didn’t even notice just how much being afraid didn’t matter until we were choosing baby names for Zeke,” she said with a small, melancholic laugh. But her smile was glowing when she reached over to pat Zeke’s cheeks. “But look at the wonderful son Grisha’s given me.” She brushed some of Eren’s stubborn hairs away from his eyes. “What wonderful sons.”

Eren and Zeke looked away, clearing the mist in their eyes.

“Be a little kinder to yourself, Eren. Even if she is afraid, the people meant to be in your life will be brave for you, especially as you’ve matured so much.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll try.”

Dina’s gaze was keen. “You better.”

Three knocks sounded at the door.

They collected themselves before Dina called out, “We’re ready.”

A redhead stepped through the door. Eren immediately groaned, a sigh following. Of course, he’d agreed to Dina and Zeke’s terms that if he made an official announcement, he’d take on personal security while in Marley. If necessary, some would return with him to Paradis, too.

But he hadn’t known that they would bring _Floch_.

“Your Grace,” he said bowing to Dina. He turned to Zeke. “My Lord.” Then, his eyes fell on Eren with all the weight of a man who’d decided against peace. “Master Eren Jäger.”

Eren inclined his chin. He’d told the man to call him by his first name years ago, but ever since Floch had had to pull him off of Porco, the man had never shown him anything but absolute deference. Eren suspected that he was one of those devoted fans Dina had mentioned—except he’d seen for himself what Eren was capable of and _approved_.

It was one thing to be feared and another thing even more horrible to be admired for it.

Eren asked quietly, “Shall we?”

It was time. The quicker he was done with the press conference, the quicker he could get back to Paradis and deal with Porco.

Back in Stohess, Christa worried her bottom lip. She had enough experience tending to Eren’s never-ending injuries in high school to immediately become concerned by your appearance.

You walked out of the bathroom stall with that same stealthy gait, but your face bore all the evidence of a brawl. Your lip was busted at the right corner. And your temples were covered in bruises. The blood beneath the darkened skin glowered at her when she approached you on Thursday afternoon.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

“What happened to your face?” Ymir asked straightforwardly, getting right to the point as usual.

Your eyes briefly met theirs in the reflection of the mirror above the sink. The way your gaze raked over them was clearly assessing for danger. Once you’d determined they wanted no part of whatever fight you’d been involved in, you turned back to washing your hands. Your only response was to shrug.

“Well, anyway,” Ymir continued uncaringly, but the arm she threw over Christa’s shoulder was tense. “Marco’s looking for you. Sent out an SOS in the group chat because you weren’t answering your phone.”

You dried your hands methodically, getting every drop of water off your skin. “Lost it.”

Ymir stiffened. Your voice was rough and now that you’d turned to them, they could see the hard lines of your posture. They could see the freshness of your wounds. The injuries weren’t too gruesome, but they were numerous. And you were wearing long sleeves when it was still hot.

Christa cleared her throat and offered another smile. “Okay, we’ll let Marco know for you.”

You nodded and made to leave, but they stood at the exit. You didn’t look either in the eye as you simply ordered, “Move.”

“What happened?” Ymir asked seriously. “Did somebody take your pho—”

“I ain’t askin’.”

A cold thrill went through her. Your voice was caustic, dangerous. Your eyes were devoid of any focus. It was familiar to them in the most poisonous of ways. That was all Eren when he’d first arrived in Trost, eyes not recognising people, but threats, as if the only two things in the world were himself and everything else that wanted to hurt him.

Ymir stepped aside, pulling a stubborn Christa with her.

“Let us take you to the nurse,” the blonde pleaded.

Ymir tried for blackmail when that didn’t work. “We’ll tell Marco.”

You kept walking even as you heard Christa whisper, “I’ll call Eren.”

People stared. Others shook their head. You hated the pity in their eyes the most, like you were some failed rehabilitation project that just couldn’t help returning to your old ways. You hated that they conveniently forgot that Galliard and his crew had cornered you first. But you knew what you looked like, quiet and accepting, like you’d wanted the misfortune.

And maybe you had, you thought, considering that you were burning your bridges so quickly—Jean, Marco, Christa, Ymir and _Eren_.

Kitz Weilman had thought so, too, and despised you from the very first moment you’d met him in this office full of war memorabilia.

He was a paranoid man, overly concerned with the idea of the staff and students under his charge turning against him. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Eventually, people learned to act independently of his approval only because his obsessions with the supposed conspiracies against him did very little to serve the university. How he’d ended up in academia when so much of his brain clearly lagged behind modern times still baffled everyone.

Kitz didn’t look very much like the president of your school. He sat tense in his chair. All the miniature canons on his desk were pointed at you—and at anyone who’d ever had to sit there. The bookshelves had been relieved of their original purpose and now stored black and white photos, tattered newspaper clippings, rusted metals and replicas of weapons—the shadow of conflict loomed all around you rather than any spirit of learning.

And yet, after that incident at the café, Weilman had made sure to inform you that you should not have intervened and that you were now under his scrutiny. It wasn’t too intense of an observation to immediately spot when you were in trouble, of course, but was just enough to know when you were about to cause it. And if Galliard had told them that you’d senselessly attacked him and that your injuries were the result of a scuffle, then you were clearly the problem.

Those sunken, beady eyes framed you.

“Mr. Galliard has graciously decided to drop this matter if you admit wrongdoing.”

You hadn’t admitted to much you’d done; you absolutely wouldn’t admit guilt to something you hadn’t—unless he threatened to take this even further by involving Marco and Jean.

The law wasn’t exactly your area of expertise. You only knew that you couldn’t behave the way you did downstairs. Still, it felt a little strange to sit in this sticky office chair while charges were levied against you. The officer who stood a little away on your right seemed to think so. You kept an eye on his sheepish expression.

“Pride—that’s the downfall of your generation,” Kitz started in a growl when you didn’t immediately fall to the floor grovelling. “Do you understand that you’re going to be arrested if you refuse?”

You almost scoffed. “Not accepting fault for something I didn’t start.”

“Are you implying that Porco instigated this incident?”

You remained silent.

“If that were true, surely you’d have made a report about his behaviour just as he has reported yours.”

 _Surely_ , you thought caustically.

They hadn’t wanted your defence, not really. If they had, they would’ve already seen CCTV footage of you being shoved into a wall by Porco on Tuesday, of him and his friends cornering you yesterday afternoon, of you returning to your dorm room unsteady on your feet after that. And if that evidence was circumstantial, so was whatever they had against you.

Apparently, your face full of bruises was of lesser importance than the scratch on Porco’s forehead. Well, you’d underestimated him. You hadn’t expected him to play dirty after you let him win. If you knew that he was willing to go this far to crush you, you’d have made him work just a little harder yesterday.

 _Yesterday_ , you marvelled. Porco worked fast. You were almost impressed. He had given you a sly glance in the hallway this morning and you’d been suspicious at the lack of follow-up, but now you knew why. Easy violence would never suffice; Porco wanted to humiliate you.

“Tell me something,” Kitz said in a tone that was so knowing. “If I had this officer search you, there wouldn’t be an illegal knife in your pocket, would there?”

“There wouldn’t.”

As if you’d be so amateurish as to march into Kitz’s office with something so incriminating when he’d already made it undeniably apparent that he hated you being at Stohess.

Where was Porco anyway? Wouldn’t he have wanted to watch this all play out in his favour? If Kitz was so evidently unopposed to bending over for him, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to let him watch this private show he’d orchestrated. Or perhaps he was already bored of his inevitable victory over you.

“I hope you understand that this affects your enrolment in this prestigious establishment.”

You pursed your lips. So much for keeping a low profile aboveground and only taking care of yourself. You’d never blame anyone but yourself, but the next time you were free, the last thing you would do was befriend another upper middle-class boy who’d unknowingly involve you in drama with their ex-friends and sons of foreign politicians.

“She’s made her stance clear. We’re done here.”

The officer stepped forward, not meeting your eyes.

You wouldn’t think of the military police swarming the Underground, stealing your tentative peace. You’d already been so close to snapping. If Porco wanted to break you, he wouldn’t. You reliving your father’s death had only reminded you of where you’d come from, what you’d survived.

Men like Kenny and Porco would always exist everywhere, but only one frightened you. A sort of calmness settled your nerves as you stood with raised arms. Without being told, you offered your back and ignored your hairs rising. You became hyperaware of the officer once he was out of sight.

As he shifted closer, the wind whispered across your neck. The coldness in the press of his hands seeped through your sleeves. His fingers skirted across you as he folded your arms behind your back. The handcuffs bit into your skin, icy and unrelenting.

From beyond the door, you heard a quick set of footsteps. They pounded along the wooden floors and the noise echoed long before the door burst open without a knock. Porco took in your unbothered expression with a barely restrained fury. He slammed the door behind him.

You raised your eyebrows.

For someone who was getting exactly what he wanted, he was still petulant.

He grabbed you by the collar, “Did you know?” He shook you hard enough for you to see white. “Did you _know_?”

Behind you, Kitz was silent and halfway out of his seat. The officer had immediately stepped away from you and given Porco a wide berth. Still restrained, you fell back against the desk when Porco shoved you by the shoulders. He was shouting now, face flushed and spittle flying. And the two people who could stop him weren’t going to do anything.

You really—more than anything—despised people in positions of power.

You breathed a long, calming sigh. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Porco screamed, “Did you know that Eren was inducted into the Marleyan royal family?”

You froze.

Eren?

Eren was royalty?

How was Eren royalty?

The _brunet from Shiganshina_ was Marleyan royalty?

_“Let me help you.”_

_Oh_ , you thought, not resisting when they marched you out into the hallway.

In the end, you’d been some chess piece between two rich people with nothing better to do. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, really. Why did you honestly believe that, for a second, he would genuinely want to help you or care about you in any significant way? Why hadn’t you been as suspicious of him as you normally would be with as little as you knew about him? Why had you been trusting?

Why...why did it hurt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a less serious note—100+ kudos?! Wow, you guys are really amazing! I can't thank you enough for all the support I've gotten! 😭
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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